


My Only Sunshine

by WhatEvenAmI



Series: Beware the Killer Rabbits [4]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Bed-Wetting, Captain Ameribear - Freeform, Daddy Kink, Footie Pajamas, Forced Feminization, M/M, Manipulation, Mental Instability, Mind Control Aftermath & Recovery, Mocking, Nightmares, Non-Sexual Age Play, Panic Attacks, Past Rape/Non-con, Protective Bucky Barnes, Self-Harm, Shame, Sharing a Bed, Teddy Bears, Vomiting, alexander pierce should have died slower
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-11-02
Updated: 2016-06-14
Packaged: 2018-04-29 12:41:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 5
Words: 29,144
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5128028
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WhatEvenAmI/pseuds/WhatEvenAmI
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <em>A long time ago people didn't think he'd ever be good for anything. But Daddy knew better. Daddy picked him back up after everyone else left him behind, Daddy gave him his chance to save the world.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>He always, always wanted to save the world.</em>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Lauralot](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lauralot/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Love Is for Children](https://archiveofourown.org/works/1790728) by [Lauralot](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lauralot/pseuds/Lauralot). 



_The room is dark. The Soldier got back very late. He'll have to make up for the delay, and he knows just how to do it._

_He sinks heavily to his knees, Daddy's hands in his, easing him down. He's still in his blood-soaked tactical gear, though Daddy will soon have that off of him, and so he is careful in his movements. Daddy has really nice clothes; it would not do to soil them. It wouldn't do at all._

_He feels himself melting, all traces of the Soldier falling away as his face comes to rest against Daddy's groin. He wants to slump against Daddy, but he's all too conscious of the blood still seeping through his shirt. He grips tighter onto Daddy's hands, holding himself up, and looks into his expectant eyes._

_"I did it, Daddy!" he says in a hushed, fervent whisper, "Mission completed. Um, successful."_

_"Glad to hear it." There's a little laugh in Daddy's voice and he thinks that's maybe a good thing. He kisses Daddy through his pants, his only mission now to figure out how to do this without his hands. There's a button and a zip, and so he quickly begins working with his mouth as Daddy tells him how good he's been. So good. The_ best _._

 _A long time ago, people didn't think he'd ever be good for_ anything _. But Daddy knew better. Daddy picked him back up after everyone else left him behind, got him his arm, or so the bedtime story goes, and then gave him his chance to save the world. He always, always wanted to save the world._

 _Daddy's telling him that's exactly what he's doing, only he's starting to gasp a little, his breath coming in spasms, as his boy's tongue slides through the zip in his pants. He's saying it, though, saying his boy's been so_ good,  _so very_ good,  _yes,_ _they're going to save the world._

_He can be strong for a little longer and take what's being given to him, holding himself ramrod-straight even as he chokes and gasps, gazing right back at his Daddy's face. And after, when he's swallowed down the bitter remnants of this game, Daddy pulls him to his feet and leads him to the bath and now he can let down his guard a little; Daddy taking care of him. Daddy will always take care of him._

*

The look on Steve's face is all too familiar. Alert, on-guard, resigned. That's the look he recognizes from so many years ago, Steve bracing to get the ever-loving shit kicked out of him. Bucky's seen that expression so many times, but never directed at  _him._

But he makes no move to stop Bucky from coming in and sitting next to him on the bed.

"Hey," Bucky begins. He's recited this to himself a million times before coming in here because it's hard to talk to Steve now. He doesn't seem to comprehend half of what they say, and then he panics when he can't figure out what they want. So Bucky has to be clear and concise and above all, calm. If he gets upset, Steve will panic. He'll assume it's his fault. If Bucky says the wrong thing, Steve might try to hurt himself an attempt at self-correction. 

For now he just stares blankly, like he does most of the time. "How are ya, buddy?" Bucky presses on, as if he doesn't know. Steve's iffy, odd.  _Erratic_ , is the word he saw in the file. Some of the time Steve will seem to be all right, quietly following whoever's in charge of watching him and doing whatever he's told.

(Steve never did what he was told. Never. Becca was the only person Bucky knew who could boss Steve around.)

And then other times he's shaking and crouching on the floor as though he's bracing to be hit. Like he doesn't know what to do. Sometimes he'll forget where he is. Forget everything. He doesn't remember Bucky at all.  _But he will_ , Bucky thinks,  _he has to._  Because Bucky's not sure he can take it if Steve never does.

Steve doesn't answer his question, just gives him a tight shrug. 

"Look at this," Bucky goes on, holding out the reason he came, "Original Captain Ameribear right here. Looks like you, see?" He's not sure whose benefit he's saying it for. Steve doesn't seem to understand half the stuff that's said to him.

But he carefully studies the bear, then Bucky. " _You're_ Captain America," he says hesitantly, and Bucky's heart leaps. Steve knows who he is. He  _knows._

Okay, sort of. Bucky will take it. The rest will come, he  _knows_  it will.

"I am  _now,_ " he says, "For a while, though, it was you. You were real good at it, too, Steve. Better job than I ever did, I'll tell you that."  _Until my stupid ass dropped you off a train._

It's rare to see such focus cross Steve's face nowadays; Bucky wonders what's going on inside his head, but Steve doesn't say. "Anyway," Bucky continues, "Tony gave him to me a while back. Just thought this little guy might help. I don't know, I've heard you've been having some rough nights."

Rough nights. That's putting it mildly. Screaming nightmares, according to JARVIS, hours spent hiding in the closet. Bucky's just wanted to go to him, hold him, but he's worried that might just make things worse if Steve's forgotten who Bucky is, why he's here.

And though Bucky doesn't want to admit how much he relied on that little bear during his own hard nights, maybe it'll be like having someone here with him. Maybe Steve can look at the thing and remember where he is.

Maybe, Bucky realizes, it'll only serve as a reminder of everything he was and lost. But Steve's already reaching for the bear, examining it, rubbing its nose and ears. Carefully, he sets it on the pillow. His face has gone completely blank. That, Bucky thinks, is the Soldier's face right there.

He's nervous, bracing himself, but nothing could have prepared him for Steve trying to work his hands under the waistband of Bucky's pants. Bucky jerks back, trying to make sense of this, and then there's a sinking feeling in his stomach. HYDRA had a puppet that had to do what they told him to. Of fucking course someone took advantage of that.  _Steve..._

He catches Steve's hands and squeezes them, turning to face him. "No. Buddy, you don't have to do that."

Steve is wide-eyed and confused. "Daddy?"

What the  _fuck._ Bucky's at a loss for words, and then he feels like he's been punched in the gut. This isn't some confusing snippet of memory floating up from the old days; Steve never knew his father. And his hands, reaching down, fumbling with Bucky's zipper...

 _Oh, Jesus, Steve, I'm sorry. I'm so fucking sorry._ Bucky tries really hard not to recoil from his friend, but Steve must catch it anyway. His eyes go wide. "Was—was I bad?" 

His face is frightened, tractable, his voice timid and tiny the way it never was even when Steve was small. This isn't him. This isn't Steve at all, and Bucky doesn't know what to  _do._

"No, buddy. Not bad at all. I—" How does Bucky say  _I won't make you fuck me_ , how can he get Steve to explain what the hell's going on when he doesn't know the right questions to ask? 

Steve looks so  _scared_. When Bucky pulls him into a hug, his heart is pounding. "Tell me what to do," he whispers, sounding thoroughly broken, "I'm sorry, I won't ask again. Just tell me the rules one time, I promise, I'll—"

"Shh," Bucky whispers because he doesn't know what to say, because is his best friend really a  _little kid_ right now? A little kid who just tried to pull his dick out? A little kid who's  _afraid_  of him?

Steve has gone quiet, but he's still shaking. Shaking more. With every second Bucky's not talking, Steve's heart beats faster against Bucky's chest. Bucky's _terrifying_  him; he's making it  _worse_.

He'd thought he was prepared for any kind of shit HYDRA could throw at him. Taking care of Steve, that's easy, that's just getting his  _life_  back. That's always been his job, and this time around, he's got guaranteed funding and housing courtesy of Stark. No matter what life had in store, as long as he had Steve, Bucky was sure he could handle it.

But he can't. He can't handle this. He doesn't know what to do, what to say. He immediately realizes he's about to freak the fuck out. 

"Steve," he manages, "I need to go, but I promise, I—"

Steve looks so fucking  _helpless_ , sitting there on the bed with his frightened eyes. "I'm sorry Daddy I know I've been really bad everyone's always thought I'm bad I'm useless and they didn't want me they all left me behind and I just. I _can_ be good, I promise, if you just tell me what to do—"

 _"Steve—"_ Bucky chokes, wiping his eyes.

"—and Daddy please don't go I'm sorry you can use the belt if it helps just please please please don't give up on me." He's hyperventilating, hands clenched on the bedsheets. "Please don't leave me, Daddy, I'll do _anything_."

Jesus. _Jesus._  

Bucky stands frozen for a few seconds too long, Steve's confused and shiny eyes holding his gaze, begging. Then he sighs, sinking back down onto the mattress, blinking back the stinging tears. He doesn't speak until he's sure his voice will come out steady. "Okay. Okay, shh. I've got you. I'm right here."

"I'm sorry I made you sad, Daddy," Steve gasps, and Bucky's stomach lurches. "I can take it if you need to punish me. I promise I won't be weak."

"You—you're okay," he manages, but he's shaking and blinking back tears and he's freaking Steve the hell out, and last time Steve freaked out he tried to take his own arm off. Calm. Somehow Bucky's got to keep Steve calm and keep himself calm as well.

"What—" Steve's lips work frantically before he manages to force out words. "What do you—what do you want me to do?"

"Just—" Bucky doesn't have a fucking clue how to deal with this, "—just sit here with me, okay? You don't have to do anything."

"But—how do you want me to say thank you?" Steve's voice is faint, shaky, and he's cringing back like Bucky's never seen him flinch before. 

"You don't have to—you could, uh, you could just  _say_ thank you." 

"Oh." He instantly drops his eyes to his lap, hunching in on himself.

After Steve had the serum, Bucky couldn't get used to him being so big. But he can never in all his life remember Steve looking this small.

But. He's blinking rapidly, arms wrapped tight around himself, and Bucky can't help feeling that surge in his heart, that instinct to protect Steve. Bucky slips an arm around him, pulling him close. "Hey. How about we just sit here for a while, huh? And you just breathe." Bucky remembers this from long ago. "Come on. Deep breath. Hold it...that's it." And here they are, this is something Bucky knows how to do. He squeezes Steve's metal shoulder, wondering if he can feel the pressure. "And now breathe out. Okay, good, that's great. Just like that. Again. Breathe..."

He doesn't have a fucking clue what he's in for. He's so fucking out of his depth right now. But he's here, holding Steve and helping him to breathe. They're both here. They're both alive. They're going to be okay. They _have_ to be okay. The confusion, the terror, all this  _Daddy_ shit...they'll get it sorted out. Bucky will help Steve get himself sorted out. They'll be all right.

And if Bucky's clinging to Steve as tightly as Steve clings to him...Bucky bites back a sigh of frustration. He knows, fucking  _hell_ , does he know, that he can't lean on Steve to get through the hard times, not anymore. This time it'll be all Bucky.

But for now, Steve's face is burrowed into his chest and Bucky holds him tight and tries to act like he's not shaking just as bad as his friend is.

*

"You know, this is kind of what the punching bags are for." Natasha says when she finds Bucky later that night. "Interesting sort of decor, though. Modern art."

Steve drifted off to sleep on Bucky's arm, so quiet that Bucky couldn't tell if his brain had tuned out again. He was curled tightly around the bear when Bucky finally eased out from under him. He gently pulled the covers over him, whispered,  "JARVIS, let me know if Steve needs me," and carefully shut the door.

Then, as soon as he was out of Steve's hearing range, he beat the shit out of a wall, yelling and putting his fists through the plaster again and again and again.

"So," Natasha says, leaning against the doorframe, "Want to tell me what this is about?"

He doesn't. Steve's too out-of-it to care what Bucky tells people about him, but it still feels like a violation. A  _further_  violation. 

But Bucky needs help. He can't do this on his own. "I think they might've done stuff to Steve. You know...raped him." By saying the words, he feels like he's betraying his friend.

Natasha nods. "From some of the things he'd been doing I'd started to think so myself. It's not surprising, Bucky. It's awful, but..." she shakes her head, "Some people, when they've got someone else in their power, they'll do anything and everything they can with that power."

From the way she talks, Bucky thinks she may have more than a general knowledge of the subject. He opts not to ask. "Anything and everything. You could say that."

"Why, what happened?"

"He, uh...he tried to take my pants off and called me 'Daddy'." Bucky looks at the floor, surprised by how quickly his eyes blur over with tears. He brushes at his face, but more come. "Shit. Sorry. I—he actually thinks he's a little kid, Nat. Someone made him think he's a kid and he's supposed to—"

A flicker of surprise crosses her face. To surprise her is rare, and for her face to betray her emotions is rarer still. But all she says is, "Are you gonna be okay?"

Bucky grits his teeth. "I don't even know. Jesus, you should have known him, before."

"Just from the history textbooks," she says, "He sounded like a pretty great guy."

"Yeah, he was. Steve kept me going," he admits, "Those historians and writers, they don't know _shit_." He feels a painful surge of sorrow.  _"Fuck!"_ He kicks another hole in the wall. He'll apologize to Tony tomorrow. Hell, he's seen the news coverage; Tony's done more damage to his own home than Bucky ever could. He'll probably just pull out this wall and sell it to a modern art museum.

"Tell me about him." She doesn't even flinch when he breaks out another piece of the wall, but Bucky can tell she's concerned. He tries to take it back a few notches, breathing deeply for a few seconds before responding. "He, uh...he cared about _everything_. Wouldn't stand for any shit. He just wanted to fix all the problems in the world, and he kept just about getting himself killed trying. And no one thought he could do it, back then. Hated people to think he was weak. Always tried to take on more than he could handle. Sometimes just to prove a point. The dumbass. Do you know how hard it was keeping him alive—"

Bucky breaks off, gasping raggedly, because he  _didn't_ keep Steve alive, did he? He  _failed_. He  _failed_ Steve when Steve needed him most. He wasn't worthy to wear that goddamned spangled getup. Only took it up because someone had to do it and Bucky knew that's what Steve would have wanted. But damn if he didn't despise it.

Natasha says nothing, only gazes evenly and waits, and Bucky finds himself spilling his guts in a frantic, breathless rush. It's all just been too fucking much. The floodgates are open and every thought and emotion is pouring out.

"He was like my brother. Shit, he pretty much  _was_ my brother. We practically lived at each others' houses, and then we were roommates after his mom died. He'd try to cook for me while I was at work, but he was awful at it, and he'd draw me, he was better at that—"

And now this terrified, cringing, acquiescing wreck has come back to Bucky, and it's cruel but it's exactly what Bucky deserves. He failed Steve all these years and he should have to face it. He's about five seconds from becoming a sobbing, hysterical mess.

JARVIS saves him. **CAPTAIN BARNES, YOU WISHED TO BE INFORMED IF CAPTAIN ROGERS REQUIRED YOUR ATTENTION.**  

Bucky immediately heads for the elevator, immensely grateful for Natasha's presence by his side.

"Don't tell the others just yet, all right?" he mutters, recovering.

"How can they help if they don't know what's going on?"

" _Fuck._ Right." It can't be avoided, not if they're going to be living here. His friend will be afforded no privacy and Bucky is so deeply sorry all over again.

**CAPTAIN BARNES AND AGENT ROMANOFF. PLEASE BE AWARE THAT CAPTAIN ROGERS APPEARS TO BE IN QUITE A BAD CONDITION. I WOULD ADVISE THAT YOU APPROACH WITH CAUTION.**

"Got it," Bucky says, moving faster.

*****

_In a bad condition._ Yeah, you could say that.

Steve's fallen out of bed. Fallen, or scrambled out in a panic. He lies on the floor, muscles taut and back arched, screaming through gritted teeth. Natasha's trying to tell Bucky he should stand back, but Bucky's already on the floor with him, gently prodding his arm. "Hey, Steve."

Sure enough, Steve's up and hitting in an instant. Bucky was pretty much expecting that, and he's got his arms braced, but  _damn_ Steve can hit hard and if it weren't for the super-soldier juice flowing through him Bucky's pretty sure his bones would be shattered.

Steve's eyes are open now, wide, and there's a heart-wrenching moment where he registers where he is, what he's doing. His expression turns to one of horror and fear, but he's still hitting and yelling, his voice now broken up with sobs. Bucky can tell he's out of control; driven by instinct and pure terror, he can't stop lashing out.

So Bucky holds his hands up and lets himself get hit. "It's okay. It's okay, buddy. I got you." He blocks a punch and then Steve's retreating, curling up, hitting himself instead, scratching and clawing and crying that he's sorry.

That's the hardest time of the night. It takes a while before Steve finally lets Bucky touch him, but when he does Bucky squeezes him tight and lets Steve cry out the rest of his terror and agony into his shoulder while he promises Steve has nothing to be sorry for.

 _Rough nights._ Bucky's just  _kicking_ himself for not being here sooner.

He holds Steve, and rocks him, and keeps pushing aside Steve's hands as he frantically insists that he's so  _sorry_ , he needs to say  _sorry_ to his daddy for what he's done. It's Natasha who prevents Steve from trying to get his head down to Bucky's lap. She's hung back, probably for her own safety, but now she kneels down and cautiously takes Steve by the arm, guiding him back up to meet her eyes.

"Hey," she says in a voice that sounds a little too upbeat, "Steve. Remember where you are?"

He freezes, blinks at her in fear.

"Okay, you're confused. That's okay. Remember me? It's Tasha."

When Bucky stares at her she quickly mouths  _let's see if it helps._

"You're at the Tower, remember? And you don't have to do that anymore. Your Daddy's just here to take care of you."

 _Daddy?_ Has she lost her  _mind?_  Because Bucky is  _not_ getting in on whatever HYDRA did to Steve, and he's not sure he has it in him to be his best friend's  _daddy_.

Except. Steve's gone still in his arms, his breathing evening out, and he's staring raptly at Natasha. 

"You must have had a really bad dream," she says soothingly, "I bet it was pretty scary."

"Uh-huh," Steve breathes, a little hitch in his voice.

"I've had bad dreams like that before. It can be really confusing to remember what's real, huh? The people here are gonna try really hard to help you out, okay? So you don't feel this bad. But in the meantime..." she holds out Captain Ameribear, "...maybe this little guy might help you feel better."

Steve turns to Bucky as though asking for permission, and when Bucky nods, he immediately squeezes the bear to his chest. Despite his initial revulsion at what HYDRA made of Steve, Bucky can't help observing him rubbing his face into the teddy bear and hugging it to his chest. It's kind of sweet.

He sighs. If it comes down to it, the real question is whether or not he's prepared to do whatever it takes to protect Steve. And the answer, as always, is  _hell yes._ Even this...even whatever Steve is now, Bucky thinks, observing his best friend stroking the bear's fur...no. No,  _especially_ this Steve is worthy of protection.

He squeezes Steve's shoulders. "That's right, buddy, I'm here to take care of you. It's gonna be okay." His hand finds traces of stickiness on Steve's flesh arm. "Really tore yourself up here, huh?"

Steve stiffens. "I'm sorry..."

"It's all right. Come on, let's go patch you up now."

Steve is pliant, leaning on his shoulder, letting them lead him to the bathroom. He holds the bear tight and keeps his gaze fixed on it, uttering not a word of complaint as Bucky pours rubbing alcohol over his scratches and bite marks. Still, they clean and bandage him as quickly as possible. He seems prone to forgetting where he is and what's happening, and they wouldn't want to set him off again.

Natasha—Tasha—insists on watching a movie. "I bet Steve's feeling too scared still to sleep," she says. Steve, judging by the way his shoulders tense, doesn't want to be drawn into a debate, so Bucky quickly says okay, fine, they can watch a movie. All chance of sleep's been shot to hell; according to JARVIS Steve never goes back under after a nightmare and Bucky still can't get the screams out of his ears. They're up for the night.

And Bucky's "catching up on the past century" list didn't really include kids' movies, but _Aladdin_  isn't so bad. And when Steve hides his face in Bucky's arm during a scary part, well, Bucky has to admit, it's kind of cute.

Ah, fuck it. He wraps his arms around Steve and holds him, holds him like he thought he'd never have a chance to do again.

*

"Bucky." Steve says the next morning, and it's the fist time he's said Bucky's name since he's come to live in the Tower. His face has gone pale and he looks horrified. "I'm sorry."

"Sorry for what?" Bucky says, feeling a huge flood of  _relief_ because this is Steve, this is his Steve, at least some part of him is still here. He feels guilty for thinking it. He would have loved Steve even if he remained the confused mess who followed Bucky around like a big confused duckling. He would have loved Steve even if he never stopped thinking Bucky's his daddy. But Steve remembers him, right now. Knows who he is. Bucky has to brush at his eyes.

Steve ducks his head. "Didn't mean to get you caught up in all that," he mutters, his face beginning to flush. "That—it was something  _he_ did and I went and." Steve pulls in a shaking breath, forcing out the next words. "I'm sorry. That must have been sick—"

Bucky puts his hand on top of Steve's, belatedly hoping that touching him won't set off that kind of action again. "Hey. It's okay, Steve. I get it. You got confused. It happens." He takes note of the  _he_ _;_  one person did this. Bucky wonders if they're alive and if he can hunt them down. But...there are really only a few men that would have had the power to do this.  _Oh, fuck, please tell me it wasn't Pierce. It was probably Pierce, wasn't it?_

"I...can't really get a handle on where my head's going these days," Steve mutters, staring into his lap, where Bucky notices the Ameribear sitting. "I'll try not to...try not to...that might happen again." And there's the humiliation hitting him.

"No, I know. What I said, I meant it. I'm here to take care of you." He brushes off the nagging feeling that he's not sure he'll be able to handle this, because this is Steve, so Bucky  _will_ handle it.

Steve looks up at him in disbelief. "You—"

"Yeah. No matter what. Till the end of the line, right?"

"I was a person once, wasn't I." It's not a question. Steve addresses it to the table, mouth set in a straight line.

"You still _are_  a person, Steve." They've told him again and again, but he doesn't always remember things they tell him.

"Till the end of the line." Steve frowns at the tabletop like he's trying to remember where the words came from.

Bucky sits down next to him, pushing a plate of eggs in front of him. For the first time since he's come to the Tower, Steve picks up his fork and begins to eat unprompted. Bucky watches him for a moment. "Damn, we've got to do something about your hair."

Steve's gaze flickers nervously upward. "Just teasing you. Sorry," Bucky mutters. He'd been expecting a snarky retort; just another thing that's Steve's lost.

But his hair. It's rough and uneven; HYDRA had kept it short, but it must have grown out after he left them. Sometime while he was on the run he clumsily took a knife to it, and no one's wanted to get near him with a sharp object to fix it.

As a result, he's got the most comical case of bedhead, tufts and stubble sticking up every which way. It puts Bucky in the mind of a confused bird with his feathers all ruffled, and he has to hold back his smile. He doesn't want Steve to feel like Bucky's laughing at him. But it is kind of cute, and Bucky can't help thinking up nicknames for that little kid who showed up last night, just in case he _does_ make another appearance. Duckling, maybe, or Little Duck, for the way he's been following Bucky around.

Steve manages to smooth his face over, though with effort, Bucky can tell. "I hadn't realized there was a problem with it," he says carefully, "I'll do it however you want it."

"Steve, no, I'm sorry. It's just a little uneven, that's all." It looks like he cut it with hedge clippers, but Bucky can't say that. Can't tease Steve and joke with him like he used to, it seems.

"He liked me better without my hair getting long," Steve mutters, "Said he wanted me to look the way I always had. So I did my best with the knife. It was stupid. I knew he was dead, I just..." he shakes his head, staring into his lap.

"It's okay," Bucky says, regretting even bringing it up, "I really was just joking, Steve."

"Can you...fix it for me?"  _Way to go, Barnes. Give him one more thing to be ashamed of. That'll help him, for sure._

"I can even it out a bit, yeah."  _  
_

And so Bucky spends the next fifteen minutes carefully fixing up Steve's hair. It's just going to be a bit uneven for a while, because Bucky doesn't want to go too short, but he's got it looking a little more presentable. He also works as quickly as he can, in case Steve gets confused again and wonders why Bucky's holding scissors to his head.

But Steve remains lucid, eyes fixed on the wall, hands absently petting Captain Ameribear. "Have you done this before?"

"Yeah," Bucky says, surprised. He'd forgotten it himself until now. Steve had always teased Bucky about paying so much attention to his own appearance. "Probably the closest I'll ever get to living with a girl," he used to say, but when they got short on money he'd gotten Bucky to cut his hair for him so he didn't have to pay to get it done. Bucky had forgotten about that till now. "Yeah, a long time ago you lived with me. You remember that?" _  
_

He nods, and if Bucky weren't holding scissors he'd wrap Steve in his arms right here.

"What happened?" he asks quietly, "How did I end up with HYDRA?"

Bucky struggles to answer. He can't meet Steve's eyes. All he hears is  _why didn't you come back for me?_  

"We were on a mission against HYDRA and you fell—I let you fall. I'm sorry, buddy, I fucked that up pretty bad. I thought you died, or I swear to God I'd have jumped after you. I'd have come back. We thought you were dead, and they must have found you." Bucky's talking to the floor, but when he manages to look Steve in the eye again there are a couple tear tracks down his face.

"You didn't make me leave because I—because I was weak?" he whispers.

" _No._ Steve, God, is that what they  _told_ you?" Bucky feels almost as gutted as he did when Steve first called him _Daddy._ "No. I'd never have done that, I swear to God. If I knew you were still alive I'd have done anything to get you back, Steve, you've got to believe me."

Steve's eyes squeeze shut, but more tears escape. "Cause you're with me till the end of the line?" he whispers.

"That's right, pal." Bucky squeezes his shoulder, "I am."

*

He loses Steve again. That afternoon he's blank-eyed and unresponsive, following Bucky around with a vaguely worried frown on his face, getting more confused and panicky by the second.

But Bucky says, again and again. "I'm with you till the end of the line, pal. It's okay. Come on. I've got you." And eventually Steve calms, stroking the bear, recognition coming back into his eyes.

His eyes are too wide and too afraid and he calls Bucky Daddy again. "I'm sorry, I got confused. I didn't mean to."

"I know." Bucky wraps his arms around Steve, squeezing him tight. "I'm so glad to have you back." And he is. He pushes down his reservations; this is better than a Steve who never knows who he is or why he's here.

"I won't do it again."

"It's okay, Steve. It happens. Don't worry about it."

Steve leans back in Bucky's arms, tentatively searching his face. "You won't...give up on me?" he whispers, then cringes as though anticipating anger, his face tilted down again, but Bucky squeezes his shoulder and tilts him back a little, prompting him to look up.

"Never, lamb," he promises when Steve finally does. The pet name just sort of slips out. Bucky overheard Sarah saying it to Steve once, many years ago, and teased him about it until Steve punched him in the mouth with his weak little fist. Bucky, good sport that he was, had pretended to be thrown by the punch, and had never used the nickname again. 

But it seems to be the right thing to say now. Steve's face floods with doubt, then relief, and then he's blinking fast like he's struggling not to cry. Bucky pulls him back to his shoulder and holds on tight like he'll never let go.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I saw some asks about what would happen if Steve had been the one who was made "little" and not Bucky. 
> 
> But the thing is, Bucky looked after Steve his entire life. He also had younger sisters. I got a little hooked on the ideal of Doting Parent Bucky and so here this is.
> 
> So far this has been REALLY HARD TO WRITE. Like, I really wanted to write it, but holy shit Steve's got such a different personality than Bucky and like 95% of this is just me figuring out how differently they'd both react to things in a role-swap. And the ways that Pierce used to manipulate Steve differ a bit too because Steve has different strengths and weak points to exploit.
> 
> I also imagined his mental confusion in the beginning is due to the fact that he's naturally more defiant than Bucky, so they had to zap his brain a lot more to keep him in line.
> 
> I don't yet know if this is going to be a linear series or a handful of little plot bunnies.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _The asset feels nothing but weakness, but below the concern there is a glimmer of familiar fondness in his master's eyes. There's a reason, his master says, that he doesn't give up on his asset, isn't there?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter warning: this one has vomit mentions and other unhygienic stuff, for those who get squicked by that.

_His master has a strange look in his eyes._

_The asset is very attuned to the way his master looks at him. Though he does not often remember specifics between the memory wipes, he has some sense of the passage of time. And of loss. His master hasn't looked at him like that in far too long._

_Lately, the asset thinks his master has been getting more and more desperate. Or perhaps that's just the asset himself. He certainly is desperate enough. Pierce has not shown anything but displeasure in a good long while. The asset thinks it feels like dying._

_And so he clings to this new expression as he would cling to life. When his master suggests they try something new he is pliant and eager. And unlike some of the other new things they've tried, this game doesn't seem to hurt._

_First, his master strips him and shaves his legs and armpits in the bathtub. It tickles, but the asset is careful not to laugh or squirm. His master has warned him about getting cut. Not that the Soldier can't handle nicks and slices, but he takes warnings from his master very seriously. He's well aware of the punishments that could be dealt by a razor like that. He stays as still as possible while Pierce runs his fingers up the insides of his newly smoothed thighs and back down his legs again. It's nice to have his master pay such close attention to his body. It doesn't feel_ bad _._

_It still doesn't feel bad while his face is painted with makeup, his lips tinted a rich, vibrant red, his eyes carefully lined and his lashes made dark and thick. It's still nice when powder is brushed over his cheeks and gel combed gently through his hair. The asset would be content to play this game forever, and his master looks absorbed in the task, not disappointed or displeased as he often has been lately._

_Then he is dressed in a strange outfit, a woman's outfit, a dress with a silky blue bodice draped lower in the back and a short, crisply starched skirt striped in red and white. Satin gloves are pulled carefully up over his arms, stiletto heels buckled onto his feet. A small blue hat is pinned into his carefully styled hair. Finally, his master helps him to stand. "Well, let's have a look at you."_

_At first things seem to be going well. Pierce instructs him, "Dance for me, darling," and genuinely laughs at the asset's clumsy attempts. The tall heels aren't helping, and the Soldier only barely manages to remain upright through the series of twirls and high kicks Pierce tries to coach him through. His cheeks would be pink even without the makeup, but it's worth it to see his master smile at him again._

_Pierce even dances with him, guiding him gracefully through a series of twirls and dips, smacking his bottom under the skirt whenever it flares out. Eventually his master dips to one knee to play with him for a bit, and he is even given a rare treat. His master's head disappears under the skirt to take the asset into his mouth, and the asset struggles to remain on his feet, rocking in the high heels._

_But then, seconds after his release, it all turns. He is brought to the floor, his unsteady legs tangled, Pierce shoving roughly into his mouth, yanking the Soldier in by the hair. It's so unexpected he very nearly sobs, and only barely holds it together. By the end of it his face is a mess of lipstick-stained cum and dark mascara tears, the hat knocked askew and his gelled hair on end. The backs of his thighs are bloodied from resting on the points of his heels, and he is clinging to Pierce's calves to keep himself upright. Even through the blur of his tears he can see the flat dissatisfaction creeping back onto Pierce's face._

_But his master sighs and says he supposes his darling girl has done well enough, and she's earned a reward, hasn't she? And so he allows himself to be wiped down with a tissue and led to the kitchen._

_The pie is sickly sweet after years without tasting. Sickly sweet and too thick, made with heavy cream and vanilla and too much spice. It should be good, but the asset already feels nauseous choking it down._

_He is frightened when it comes violently up, but his master does not punish him. Instead he is led to the bathroom without comment. He is sweaty and flecked with his own vomit, and so he flinches when Pierce puts an arm around him, but he soon has a more pressing concern to worry about than soiling his master. He is in pain, his insides feeling as though they are being ripped apart, churning and gurgling. He has handled severe beatings and lacerations, but this frightens him more than he can say. It's pathetic, but he can't keep back little whimpers and moans of terror._

_Being ill scares him; he thought his enhanced body couldn't get sick, but no, he's messed everything up, and he's frightened and heaving still, and all he can do is cling to his master and choke out apologies._

_And his master is there, rubbing his back and holding his head over the toilet. When he apologizes for his failure, Pierce tells him it's all right. He won't be sick forever. He'll get stronger. He will get stronger. Won't he?_

_The asset feels nothing but weakness, but below the concern there is a glimmer of something familiar in his master's eyes. He is not sure, but he thinks he might call it love. There's a reason, his master says, that he doesn't give up on his asset, isn't there?_

_Trembling, the asset nods, only to have to stick his face in the toilet once again._

*

Bucky gets the news at a really inopportune time.

He's sitting on the bathroom floor, rubbing Steve's back and occasionally wiping his face with a cold cloth, when the phone rings.

He considers letting it go to voicemail. He's in the middle of reassuring Steve that he's really not upset with him. Which is hard, because Steve can hear the concern in Bucky's voice and it's making him panic. 

When he first came to the Tower, they fed him in small amounts, topping him up by IV as necessary until they were sure his stomach could handle real food. It worked at first, but with his metabolism it wasn't sustainable for long. They need to get him eating full meals.

Only the exact week his stomach finally stabilized itself a bit, he started a whole bunch of meds that are making him sick while his body adjusts. Bucky's wondering how much longer Steve can go on like this before he'll have to be hospitalized.

And if Bucky shows his concern, Steve panics.

The first time Steve had been sick, Bucky hadn't even known it was about to happen. They'd all been gathered in the lounge watching movies after dinner, and Steve had seemed a little off, but he often seemed a little off. He wasn't speaking, and he was tense and rigid on Bucky's lap.

"You okay there, buddy?" he'd whispered, trying not to draw too much attention in case that increased his anxiety. Still, Natasha, sitting to their right, had glanced over.

"Say something," she whispered, "You look like you're about to—hang on." And she'd been up in a flash, thrusting a trash can under his face. "Into this, if you need."

She was just in time, and Steve immediately shuddered and began to throw up. He'd been whimpering, shaking so hard.

After, when he was curled up on his side in bed, Bucky asked him, "Buddy, how come you didn't tell me you weren't feeling good?"

He'd tried to convey by his tone that he wasn't angry, but Steve had still said, "Sorry, Daddy," in a scared, miserable voice. Then, more quietly, "I didn't know I was allowed."

"Why wouldn't you be allowed to tell me you feel sick, honey?" Bucky had asked, dreading the answer, and that was how he learned that good little boys don't get sick, because good boys don't make messes and anyway getting sick is a dangerous sign of weakness and both messes and weakness warrant punishment. That's how Bucky learned that the slightest hint of concern in his voice, meant only to show that he cares, will cause Steve to feel anxious and scared, defensive and desperate to prove he's not weak. That he's useful and valuable and please don't get rid of me, Daddy, please.

And so now Bucky has to keep promising him it's okay, it's really okay, that he's throwing up. That Daddy's here to take care of him, that Daddy loves him no matter how sick he gets. 

"Great job letting me know you didn't feel good," he murmurs, taking a page out of Miriam's book, "That was really helpful, right? It helps me know how to take care of you."

"'Kay," Steve pants, gripping the toilet seat with his flesh hand, and that's when Bucky's phone rings.

He almost lets it go in favor of comforting Steve, but a glance at the screen shows that it's Maria. He hasn't heard from her since SHIELD fell; she's been busy and so has he. If she's contacting him now, it must be important.

"Hey, what's happening?" He keeps one hand on Steve's shoulder, holding him steady.

"You're not going to like this, but I need you to bear with me," she begins, "Have you been keeping up on the news?"

"Missed it today." He's been a little busy trying to convince Steve to eat toast and cereal, and then rubbing his back as he throws up toast and cereal.

"Your little excursion didn't go unnoticed. We tried to keep people clear, but the reporters did wonder why Stark was renting out a toy store."

That trip to FAO Schwarz. Bucky  _knew_ it was a bad idea, but Steve wanted to go  _so badly._ Before, he had been terrified to go outside, but that day he'd been so eager that Bucky had had to make him come back in to brush his hair and tie his shoes for him.

Steve's gone rigid, and too late Bucky remembers the super-soldier hearing. He must be hanging on every word. _"It's okay,"_ Bucky whispers to him with a hand over the speaker, and then, to Maria, "What's the damage?"

"Several photos of you with the Winter Soldier, as well as a few scattered Avengers in the background. The pictures have gone viral; everyone knows he's with you now. And by everyone, I mean not only the U.S. government but every country in the world. If the legal system does nothing, it ruins our credibility. And, Bucky, I should warn you that a great deal of our legal system is really looking for a scapegoat right now."

Steve has begun to tremble. "Look, can I call you back? It's not a good—"

"I'll be off the phone in twenty seconds. Look, we're going to try and manage this, but long story short, they're already pushing for a trial. If it comes to it, Stark wants me to represent you, and I will, but I'll need to meet with Captain Rogers. You've been quite protective, I've heard. Including your absconsion from his physical examination."

Because they'd wanted to keep him overnight and _interrogate_ him. He'd been terrified, barely holding it together, and there was no way in hell Bucky was letting them lock him into a chair and question him. Not after what he saw in the Winter Soldier files.

"I find it entirely understandable if you don't want to allow SHIELD anywhere near him. But, Bucky, Stark's hiring me to clear Rogers' name and get the government off your asses. I can only help if you let me. Think about it. I'll talk to you later."

As soon as Bucky's hung up the phone, Steve collapses over the toilet, gagging violently again, leaving Bucky to stroke his back and wonder how he would ever deal with being put on the stand for the whole world to see.

*

"So you're telling me," Maria stares straight into Bucky's eyes, clearly disconcerted, "that when he enters this state, he believes he is five years old."

"Not exactly," Pepper rests her hands on the table, "He knows his chronological age, but his state of mind, the way he thinks, it all gets a lot younger. He _acts_ five. And yes, the headstate appears to be genuine."

"And Pierce used this mindset for his personal sexual desires." Bucky doesn't ever think he's seen Maria look so disturbed, and his temper flares. Then he realizes it's probably directed at Pierce, not Steve. She'd have been in close contact with the Secretary for years.

Bucky thinks back to his own brief encounters with Alexander Pierce, and imagines how he'd have felt then, knowing what he knows now. He understands Maria's shock and revulsion.

"Okay," she goes on, "I'll need a better understanding at some point. Soon, actually."

"He can't talk to you today." Even if he was ready for that, the meds have made him sleepy as hell. According to Pepper, he's currently crashed out on the floor of the penthouse. Given that he hardly gets any rest, Bucky really doesn't want to wake him up.

"All right. But I'll need to meet with him soon. I'm going to focus on his actions as Captain America and the symbol he was during a critical point in history, but that won't carry much weight if we can't prove HYDRA coerced him into becoming their operative. The child's mindset will be key here."

Steve's only just starting to remember a little about who he was. How cruel is it to bring him back into the public eye right _now_? Everyone's read the history textbooks. They've seen documentaries and heard speeches and projected Steve's image onto anything and everything patriotic.

How will they react when they see him like _this_?

"How is he doing?" Maria asks after a moment.

"Better than he was," Pepper says, "But, Maria, he's still in no shape to make an appearance in court. He just wouldn't hold up."

"That's not what I meant," Maria says, "I wanted to know how he's doing, and how the rest of you are doing as well."

"I'm all right," Pepper says, "A little bit worn out from  _someone's_ recent publicity stunt, but Steve and I watched TV for a while before he fell asleep on my floor. He is innocent, Maria. As soon as you speak to him I'm sure you'll understand that. He's such a sweet kid, when he is a kid. And when he's not, he has no idea what he's doing."

"And how are the rest of you?" Maria repeats, looking pointedly at Bucky.

Tony takes the floor, and Bucky has never been so grateful for the man's inability to shut up. "Ran out of coffee, so we're probably all doomed. Uhh...spectacular, other than that. I did just find out I'm an uncle. Kid calls me Uncle Tony, I mean. Not my choice exactly, I'd have gone for Tony the Magnificent and—"

"We're fine," Natasha interrupts him, "But there's no way he can handle open court, Pepper's right on that. If there has to be a trial, can we try to make it private?"

"After Insight, any information on HYDRA is in high demand," Maria shakes her head, "And Captain Rogers was a legendary historical figure. All the major news outlets want in on this. The public wants in on this. I'm going to try my best, but we will likely have to face the worst-case scenario here. It's my job to prepare for that. And to prepare _you_ for that. Including, and most importantly, Captain Rogers. Which is why I'll need to meet with him as soon as he's feeling up to it. I'm sorry. I'd allow you more time if I could. But the media's swarmed HYDRA like sharks to a feeding. This is all going to happen fast. I need to see Rogers soon so that I can decide where to go from there."

Fucking great. Bucky's really not looking forward to breaking this news to Steve.

*

Bucky's hardly slept in his own room since that first night he'd woken Steve from his screaming nightmare. Tonight is no different; Steve's been under a lot of stress today, so Bucky will be sleeping on couch cushions on the floor in his room.

 _Like when we were kids_ , he'd said at first, only to be met with Steve's anxious, blank stare. At first Bucky had thought Steve was afraid to let Bucky sleep in the same room because of the fucked-up games Pierce used to play when they shared a bed. Or maybe Steve worried about hurting Bucky when he had one of his violent nightmares.

But that night Steve had woken hyperventilating and rushed into the closet to hide. When Bucky carefully cracked open the door, a powerful stench hit him. It turned out Steve had vomited from stress after a few of those dreams, and hadn't wanted anyone to know. So he'd gone to throw up in the closet, and there were a few crumpled sheets and pairs of pants on the floor as well, damp and stained with old urine. Bucky carefully concealed his revulsion, because there was Steve, huddled in the corner, face flushed so red, shame and terror radiating off of him.

"I'm not mad at you," had been Bucky's first words, as Steve cringed and burrowed himself into a hanging bathrobe, "But Steve, buddy, you can't do this again, okay? Tomorrow I'll show you where the laundry room is. It's okay. I'm not mad that this happened, understand? Not mad. I promise."

He really hadn't wanted anyone to know. And Bucky understood. It was exactly the kind of thing Pierce would have punished him for. Or given the unspoken threat; abandonment, decommissioning.  _Weak, useless, failing, malfunction._  

He wished he'd stayed here from the first night they brought Steve in. Wished he'd been there to promise it was okay and Steve didn't have to hide this.

He'd already been caught in a fit of nightmare-induced paranoia and Bucky's discovery had sent him into a panic attack, choking and wheezing and apologizing. Bucky had sat outside the closet door, coaxing his friend into his lap, promising that everything was going to be okay and of course Bucky still loved him and HYDRA was definitely not right outside the door waiting to take them to the chair.

"Not mad," Steve whimpered once he'd crept onto Bucky's lap, "Disappointed. _Disgusted._ "

"Oh, baby, no," Bucky promised, squeezing him, "I know you're having a rough time. It's okay, really." And he had known, chasing Steve down after HYDRA fell, that even if Bucky could find him he'd have a lot of problems. But he'd never expected to see him reduced to this. He keeps inadvertently letting it show—horror, shock, concern—and all Steve sees is that he's been a disappointment. That they might decide he's not worth having around.

He's doing a bit better now. Bucky cleaned the hell out of the closet while he was playing with Tasha, and there's now a trash can by the bed. After a discreet request to Tony, Steve has plastic-protected sheets, although he doesn't wet himself often and it seems to be happening less and less. Bucky thinks it might just be a lingering side effect of having his head repeatedly fried, and now Steve's body and brain are beginning to heal.

But the vomiting. That's still a serious problem, because it means Steve's losing what precious few calories they can get into him. He's eating now, but not  _enough_ , and if his body can't adjust to the meds soon they'll have to put tubes in his arms and down his nose just like HYDRA did, and what will  _that_ do to Steve's sense of safety? Of trust?

Despite all his worries, Bucky has to smile at the sight of Steve in footie pajamas, clutching Captain Ameribear and his special pillow. It's pretty damn cute.

"Got your story picked out?" he asks as Steve crawls over him and nestles himself against Bucky's chest. And so Bucky reads "Sleeping Beauty," doing the dramatic voices he once used to tell stories to his youngest sister. Jo; she's an old woman now, and it's still weird not to think of her as a bubbly teen in Becca's hand-me-down dresses, getting into their mother's makeup and giggling about boys and reading under the table at dinner. She'd still mostly been a kid when Bucky took that plane down, though he imagines his 'death' made her grow up pretty fast.

It's easier to talk to Becca, he's found. She hasn't changed much; she put Bucky in his place when they were kids and she does it now as deftly as ever. Becca kept him going, the first few months after unfreezing, even though she herself was still recovering from the shock of her long-dead brother coming back. He used to call her several times a day. He'd put a little swagger in his step, hold up his trademark cockiness like a second shield, and then slip away to dial Becca's number and just break down. She kept her phone by her side and picked up every time he rang and listened with uncharacteristic patience until he could talk sense again.

It occurs to him that his sisters are just now finding out Steve's alive. His insides twinge; they knew Steve when he was little enough that Becca could pick him up and haul him over her shoulder, and when he'd been Cap they knew him as an idol, a hero, the face of the nation. Now they're seeing history unwrite itself in a twisted, dark display.

And Peggy...Bucky's insides twist. God. _Peggy_.

Maybe it's better for both of them if Bucky never tells her Steve is alive. But how could he never tell her Steve is alive?

He finishes the story with a sinking feeling. Steve's nowhere near well enough to see Peggy anyway; he's paranoid and reactive and way too panicky to make the trip down to DC. But one of these days, it's going to come up, and it might not be because Steve finally feels up to going. Bucky doesn't like to think about it, but Peggy can't have much time left. Even if her body holds out, her mind's slipping, more and more.

"Daddy?" Steve whispers, providing a welcome distraction.

"What's up?"

"The government people? The ones the SHIELD lady called you about? Are they gonna take me to jail?"

"No way, duckling," Bucky promises, pressing a kiss to Steve's forehead, "I know everything that happened wasn't your fault. So I won't let them take you anywhere."

"But what if they come to get me?" Steve's eyes had been sliding shut, but now they're wide again. "What if they come with ships an'..." he yawns, ..."and guns and stuff?"

"We won't let them take you." Bucky slides himself out from under Steve to better look him in the eye, "I told you I was here to protect you. I meant it. I knew this might happen, buddy. We'll get a plan together. But that's all a long way off, okay? The lady on the phone, she wants to try and make it so you don't have to deal with them at all. We'll talk to her sometime, when you're feeling a little better. She's nice. Like your doctors. She's here to help you."

Well, actually, Bucky has some doubts about anyone who was in SHIELD, particularly the higher-ups. But Hill strikes him as one of the more genuine agents he's known, and she's proven herself on more than one occasion. If he has to entrust Steve's safety to a former SHIELD agent, he's glad it's going to be her.

He ruffles Steve's hair, partly to comfort him and partly just because it's cute when it's all mussed up. "Here, get Captain Ameribear under the covers. He'll protect you if you have any scary dreams, okay? And me, too. I'll be right here if you need me."

"Uh-huh." Steve's eyes slide shut, fingers tightening on his bear. Bucky leans down to kiss his forehead before switching off the bedside lamp. 

"Night, buddy. Love you," he whispers as he lays down on the couch cushions.

"Love you too," Steve mumbles back, before they both drift off to sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Forced-fem!Steve in the USO outfit was put in my head by a plot bunny anon on Tumblr. (Thank you, plot bunny anon.) I'm still figuring out exactly where I'm going to go with this, so if anyone wants to suggest things to me, I read all your comments and [I'm also on Tumblr](http://perplexedhedgehog.tumblr.com/).
> 
> (I wonder where Pierce got the size-large USO outfit and if anyone was judging him for it. I mean, there's always Amazon, but come on, Pierce is the type to place heavy importance on quality. He definitely didn't get it on Amazon, and somewhere there exists a costume-shop owner or seamstress who wishes they knew a lot less about the Secretary's recreational practices.)


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _He understands now that Daddy really is so very good to him. Daddy takes care of him even when anyone else would have left him behind long ago._

_He doesn't know what marks the change. All he know is that is master is trying new things with increased fervor. First, he is given a stuffed rabbit._

_It clearly isn't new. Its fabric is worn, a few patches of fur rubbing off, and the ears look as though they've been through some wear. The "thank you" comes automatically, though he isn't actually sure this is a gift. It isn't a weapon, and the Soldier doesn't see how it could be meant for his and his master's private games. It looks like a child's toy._

_"Thank you,_ Daddy _," His master corrects him, and the asset is highly attuned to corrections. The words slip out even as he begins to feel very confused and very wrong._

_Whatever his master was looking for, he seems to have reached it, because the asset is asked to call his master "Daddy" again. He is made to hold the rabbit and to memorize books on child development. He is told that this is another secret mission. Acting. He remembers when he used to do missions with acting, right?_

_He is humiliated, upon pretending that he cannot do things like work the laces on his boots or unfasten the buttons on his tactical pants. His field handlers would piss themselves laughing to hear his juvenile speech patterns and tones. Even his master gives him a smile like there's some hidden joke and the asset does not like to be mocked. He tolerates it because his master is smiling and he's been so starved to see Pierce smile at him again. He tugs uselessly at the knotted laces and fumbles with the waistband of his pants until Pierce says, "Here, sweetheart, let Daddy get that for you._

_Being undressed with gentle hands brings a familiar, tender sort of comfort. Though he can have no way of knowing where he came from—Pierce has told him some stories but his life as far as he can remember has always been HYDRA—he thinks someone else cared for him once. It soothes something deep inside him, filling a craving he never knew he had. His head comes to rest on his master's shoulder._

_That's how the asset learns that being looked after, being undressed and tucked into bed and having his master's attention so intently focused on him—eases the ice-cold ache in his chest that he has been carrying, he thinks, since he was made. He'd never tell, of course, even without his master's reminders that these are the secret games. His strength and skill are legendary; he is competent, to say the least, and he is certainly_ not _a helpless child._

_But. His master wraps blankets around him when he comes in from missions out in the cold, squeezes the life back into his hand. His master rubs his stomach and presses cool cloths to his head when little treats and rewards make him sick. His master whispers not to be scared, and the Soldier would never tell anyone else how much being ill really does frighten him because he is not supposed to be sick, or frightened._

_But Daddy knows. Daddy helps him get through it._

_He is eventually given new clothes. There are soft warm pajamas covered in dinosaurs, and there are pants with an elastic waist rather than zippers and buttons, with cartoon characters the asset does not recognize sewn into the pockets. Though the asset does not understand why, there are underpants festooned in tiny depictions of cars and trucks._

_"Do you like them, Sunshine?"_

_"You didn't have to do that for me," is what comes out of his mouth, and Daddy frowns a little. That's not the right answer. "Thank you, Daddy."_

_His master smiles, and teaches his boy how to finish thanking him properly._

_Of course, there are times when he is bad. When he gets the belt or when he is made to kneel for hours on end in the corner. When he has to sleep on the floor, or downstairs in the dark where it's big and scary and empty of Daddy. But he has become much better, far more eager to please, because he understands now that Daddy really is so very good to him._

_After all, he's been so bad and so weak and still Daddy helps him be better. Daddy takes care of him even when anyone else would have left him behind long ago._

*

"Hey," Bucky says, the words slipping out before he really thinks about it, "I'm proud of you."

"Yeah," Steve leans back against Bucky's shoulder, "I ate almost as much food as I used to back when I weighed ninety pounds. Go me."

He's so used to talking to the kid, but Steve—the _real_ Steve—surfaces more and more often nowadays. Bucky finds that hopeful, but it means he ends up inadvertently patronizing his friend. Steve enjoys that about as much as he did back in the 30's. Maybe even less now. "You know I didn't mean—I am proud of you, Steve. You've been trying so hard. I know it's been rough, but you're doing so much better."

"I know," Steve says, his voice still laced with the well-concealed bitterness that Bucky wouldn't even notice if he didn't know Steve so well, "I managed not to puke on anyone all week. They should give me a medal."

They're lying together on Steve's bed, Bucky's hand massaging Steve's stomach. Technically, Steve's not supposed to be here when he's not trying to sleep, but the rules can be bent just this once. For the first time since he arrived at the Tower, he's managed to finish everything on his plate.

It's just a start, of course. The physicians who examined him have said that those are the minimum portions he can eat in order to to sustain his life. But between not being accustomed to solid food and the 'treats' Pierce used to manipulate him, even the  _thought_ of eating makes him feel ill. 

But for an entire week now, Steve has managed to keep down everything they've fed him, even after the worst of his nightmares, and tonight, for the first time, he cleaned his plate and asked for seconds. This is a huge deal, and though Steve was joking about that medal, Bucky makes a note to have Tony make one for the next time he's five. 

Of course, now Steve's stomach is revolting and the thought of being sick still makes him panic. So Bucky brought him up here to lie down, and the two of them have been talking and reminiscing all evening.

"I could be remembering wrong," Steve says, "But I think I threw up on your mom once. I think?"

"Yeah, you did. You were at my house and you got really sick, just out of nowhere. We were so worried," Bucky murmurs, "You remember that?" Steve doesn't have much of their life together, and Bucky tries not to make a big deal out of it, knowing that however shitty it feels for him, it's a whole lot harder on Steve. He's reaching for vague feelings and scraps of memory that he knows he should be able to place, but most of the time it stays just out of his reach, no matter how hard he tries.

Bucky knows better than to rub it in, but still, the thought that Steve remembers their childhood, really remembers  _him..._ well, he can't help feeling his hope renewing itself. He reaches over to give Steve's shoulder a little squeeze.

"Yeah," Steve stares at the ceiling, frowning in concentration, "I was so damn embarrassed. And there you were, all scared I was gonna die, and I was just thinking  _if only._ " He shakes his head, "I puked on your  _mom._ "

"She raised four kids, Steve. Trust me, she was definitely used to it. She put you in the guest room, I remember, because she was worried I'd catch what you had, but I snuck in anyway."

"You got in bed with me. Told me stories. About...Indiana, I think?"

Bucky's breath catches a little, and he pauses to keep his excitement from his voice. He doesn't want to make Steve feel pressured to remember things he just can't bring back. But—

"That's right," he says, "My uncle lived there. We'd been out to visit our family. You wanted me to keep talking to you, but I couldn't think of any stories. So I told you all about the trip."

In his mind he knows it's too much to hope that Steve will one day have all of his memories back. Still, it's rare for him to be able to piece together his recollections like this. To mention little details even Bucky had forgotten. For a while, he just decides to enjoy it. They talk about the old days, and Steve seems entirely content, and he's been lucid and okay and _here_ for an entire week.

It's almost too good to be true.

*

The screaming has him up in an instant. He's conditioned, by now, to respond to Steve's distress; he doesn't wake confused or groggy like he used to. He's up before his eyes are open.

_He was having such a good week._ Bucky knows none of this recovery is going to make sense. Nightmares and rough patches are going to happen here and there, no matter how well Steve recovers. But he still can't help but feel like this is a major setback. They were laughing and talking just like they used to, and Bucky can't help wondering what the hell  _happened._

"Steve," he says cautiously, taking his friend's shoulder. He's already braced for impact, and sure enough Steve lashes out, awake now. Before long he turns his rage and fear on himself, and then he's curled in a whimpering, rocking ball on the bed, clawing furiously at himself with his hands.

Bucky grabs for the metal arm, knowing he could get hurt but not caring in the slightest. Steve's done himself some serious damage with this hand before. Bucky squeezes the cold metal tight and promises that Steve can scream and break down for as long as he needs. He waits and listens and tries to keep him from hurting himself too badly. "I'm right here. I've got you, buddy. I know you're scared. It's okay. I've got you."

Steve doesn't say anything, doesn't apologize or beg for the flashbacks to end, and Bucky has a bad feeling in his gut. He'd thought they were past this, but when Steve finally quiets and raises his head Bucky sees the blank look in his eyes and knows he's fogged out. Hazy, not sure who or where he is.

Bucky immediately wraps his trembling friend in a gentle hug so that, even as confused as Steve is, he'll know he's not in trouble. He can feel sticky patches soaking through Steve's shirt; he's bleeding pretty bad. 

"Daddy...?" Steve whispers uncertainly.

Great. He's fogged-out and  _five._ He's probably terrified right now. "Steve?" he asks. Steve is silent, struggling to breathe. "You feeling a little confused, buddy?"

"Um. I—" his voice is so shaky. "I—I don't—I'm sorry—"

"No, that's okay. It happens." Bucky squeezes his shoulders. It's  _not_ okay. It's  _not._ Steve was  _just here_ , it was  _his_ Steve, they were talking, Steve  _remembered_ who he'd been. And he hasn't fogged out in a while, but every time it happens Bucky can't help but worry that he'll never come back. "Hey, why don't we go get you cleaned up, though? I think you might be bleeding a bit."

"Oh." Steve examines his arms and torso as if he hadn't been sure what hurt and everything makes sense now. "Sorry, Daddy."

"It's okay. Sometimes you just can't help it, I know. I'm not mad."

"...Disappointed?" Steve asks tremulously.

"Nah. Not that either." He is disappointed, but not with Steve. "Come on, let's go get some bandages."

Bucky eases him off the bed and guides him into the bathroom. They keep the med kit under the sink, and Bucky quickly gets to work patching Steve back together. The super-soldier healing factor means he seldom needs stitches. Bucky's job is to bandage him up so that he doesn't pick at his injuries when he gets stressed.

Even as the kid, Steve is pretty stoic when Bucky wipes rubbing alcohol over his wounds. His teeth are gritted, though, his breathing just a bit forced. "You're doing a great job keeping still for me," Bucky soothes, "I know it hurts. This part will be done in just a sec."

Then come the bandages. Tony designed them specially; the cloth has little teddy bears all over it. Steve pokes at one on his ribs, fascinated, until Bucky gently pushes his hand away. "Don't touch," he reminds Steve, "Or you might hurt the scratches again. You can look, though." He carefully secures the bandages with adhesive strips, then leads Steve back into the bedroom to find him some clothes that aren't soaked in blood.

Steve picks his Iron Man pajamas, and Bucky leaves his clothes soaking in a sinkful of cold water, hoping the bloodstains won't set in.

He braces himself for the moment they get back to the bed, and sure enough, Steve's hand slips under the waistband of his pajama bottoms. Bucky catches the hand, moves it back, holds Steve's shoulder to prevent him from bending to complete the task with his mouth. "You don't have to do that, buddy. If you want to say thank you, you can just say it with words."

"Oh," Steve says uncertainly, "Thank you, Daddy."

Bucky tucks the blankets around them both. "Think you could go back to sleep?"

"I dunno." He usually can't; he's gotten all freaked out, and he's in pain.

"Was your dream really scary?" Bucky murmurs, stroking Steve's hair. It's growing out a bit, and soon Bucky will be able to trim it up and even it out for him. For now, he just smoothes down those awkward short patches sticking every which way, his fingers coming up damp from sweat.

"Uh-huh."

"Want to tell me about it?"

"It was from the time when I was bad," Steve says dully.

"The time when you were bad?" Pierce punished him in a number of horrific ways for all kinds of spurious infractions.

"Back before the techs got me to stay in the chair. Now you can put me in it all the time. I promise I won't fight," Steve recites, "Back when I was bad I fought a lot and then I had to stay in the chair for a long time."

Bucky tries to stave off the imagery. Of course Steve fought. Of course he fought until he had nothing left to fight with.

"That's not _bad_ , buddy," He draws Steve closer until their foreheads touch, "You were trying to protect yourself. It sounds like you fought for a long time."

Steve gives a lopsided shrug, unsure what to make of this conflicting information.

"I'm proud of you," Bucky adds, "You're so strong and brave, you know that? You've always been so brave."

"I—I don't remember. I don't remember, Daddy," Steve sounds so sad and scared, "I dreamed they put me in the chair and then when I woke up, I didn't remember _anything_."

"That's okay." Bucky wraps an arm around Steve and hugs him tight to hide how hard he's shaking. "Don't worry. You will."

Steve is silent, trembling.

"And until you do," Bucky adds, "I'm right here."

*

The nickname "duckling" stuck because of the way Steve follows Bucky around when he's confused, trailing close behind him with a hand wound tightly into his shirt. It's a little cute and a lot sad. Bucky sees the lostness and the clouded fear on Steve's face and doesn't put up much of a protest. There've been a few times Steve was five and panicked had to be allowed to follow Bucky into the bathroom, but aside from that, he thinks he'd be okay with never letting go of his friend again.

It does make it a bit hard to make breakfast, especially since Steve's really not supposed to be near knives. But Bucky gives him other little tasks to do, pressing the buttons on the blender or poking the eggs with a spatula. Steve's never been much of a cook, but he can manage that even when he's a kid. He does it all one-handed, maintaining a steady grip on the back of Bucky's shirt.

Bucky gives a little start when he realizes Steve's using his metal hand asthe spatula, even though he insists it doesn't hurt.

The one good thing about Steve fogging out is that Bucky can reuse some of his little parenting tricks. He stumbled across an internet site that showed him how to cut fruit into animal shapes, and this morning Steve delights anew over the apple bunnies.

It's only when they've sat down to eat that Bucky realizes someone's missing. "Where's your bear, duckling? Isn't he hungry this morning?"

Steve looks perplexed and then frantic, and _fuck,_ even when he's like this he usually doesn't forget about Captain Ameribear. He rocks back and forth a little. He's got that face he gets when he's too scared to ask for something he desperately needs.

"Come on," Bucky scoops him up, "Let's go find that bear."

It's lying near the foot of the bed. It must have been pushed down there during Steve's nightmare. Bucky picks it up and hands it to Steve, and the change is immediate. He watches the dawning understanding coming across Steve's face, the memories flooding back to him, and kicks himself for not thinking of this earlier. Captain Ameribear has always had a strange kind of grounding effect on Steve. Come to think of it, it was right after Bucky gave him the toy that he started regaining bits and pieces of his old self.

"Daddy. I—"

"You okay?" Bucky murmurs.

"I tried to play the bad games," he mumbles, staring at the floor.

"It's okay. You were confused. Don't worry about it."

His face flushes red, and Bucky wraps an arm around him "It's not a big deal, really. Come on, let's go get this bear some breakfast."

Steve still seems shaken up from last night, and Bucky decides to spend maybe a day or so with him, just keeping an eye on him. He had a good week, but maybe that's what blew out his mind last night. That kind of progress has got to be hard work. Bucky tentatively found himself on a parenting website the other day—this _Daddy_ thing doesn't seem to be going away, and even if it did, Steve still needs help  _now,_ whether he's five or twenty-seven. Anyway, someone mentioned that even the most outgoing kids should still get plenty of one-on-one time with their parents. Maybe that's what Steve needs right now.

So Bucky suggests they color. He likes to watch Steve draw. Even now, he's incredible, rendering the view from the kitchen window in as much detail as crayons allow. Bucky's never been much of an artist, to say the least. Observing the finished products, anyone would say that Bucky's the one who's five.

"Those are amazing," Bucky murmurs. He's said it before, but Steve has such a low opinion of himself that it's always good to keep telling him. And it's pretty damn cute when his cheeks turn pink and he hides his smile behind the bear. Bucky reaches out to ruffle his hair.

Then they play games. Hide-and-seek, Candyland, checkers. Bucky starts out planning to let Steve win, but it turns out even when he's five he's ruthless at checkers. The whole time they're playing, an uncomfortable thought hovers at the surface of his mind. It's been coming on more and more lately: this isn't that bad.

When he first found out about the whole "Daddy" thing, he'd been appalled at what Pierce had done to his friend. And though he'd been careful to hide it, seeing Steve after that was just a reminder of all the twisted, fucked-up shit that can never be undone. There's no going back from this.

And Steve just kept following him around, clinging to his shirt or his hand and calling him  _Daddy._ And fuck if  _that_ didn't make Bucky's skin crawl, knowing what that word meant when Pierce had used it.

But now...

Bucky had first seen the kid mindset as just another broken, traumatized part of Steve that could maybe be healed with time and patience. Hoped for it, a little, and hated himself for hoping. It wouldn't be fair to put pressure on Steve to go back to the man he'll never be again. And, he'd had to admit, he wasn't sure he wanted the kid to go  _away._

It's  _sweet_ when Steve hugs him tight and won't let go, when he curls up in Bucky's lap on movie night like he thinks he's still ninety pounds. When he lets Bucky hold him and hold him and pretend he'll never have to let go. And there are other things, like today, that are just _fun;_ the way Steve's face lights up at apple rabbits and dinosaur chicken nuggets, or his delight at playing games like Candyland. And Bucky's _not_ a pervert. He's nothing like Pierce. He'd never force this kind of thing on anyone, would never touch a child like Pierce did with Steve. He  _knows_ that. But it still feels fucking weird, intrinsically  _wrong,_ to enjoy being with the kid.

And it's something Bucky's going to have to come to terms with, because the child side of Steve seems to be sticking around even as other symptoms of his trauma begin to fade. Bucky's not sure he wants to be called  _Daddy_ after Pierce defiled the term, but he thinks he may have unexpectedly found himself a father.

He worried about that back in the day, he thinks with a bitter sort of amusement, on the occasion that he'd had a girl over after a night out. He just never thought his kid would be two hundred and fifty pounds.

Steve, oblivious Bucky's runaway train of thought, makes his final move. "I win!"

"How do you keep doing that?" Bucky was genuinely not trying to lose this time.

"Captain Ameribear helped. He's a good strategist," Steve says around the checker in his mouth.

"Spit that out, okay? You could choke. Hey, no, I'm not mad. I just want you to be safe." Bucky squeezes Steve's shoulder. "It's okay. You must be hungry, though, if you're trying to eat the board game. You want dinner?"

It occurs to Bucky, while making pizza under strict bear supervision, that he really should have gotten them both dressed by now, but fuck it. They're having a pajama day. And a pajama day wouldn't be complete without TV and a blanket fort. Steve, his face a mess of pizza sauce, eagerly agrees to that plan.

"Careful, buddy. You might've gotten some of that in your mouth."

Steve's face falls, and he quickly scrubs at himself with a napkin. "Sorry."

Bucky curses himself. He keeps forgetting he can't tease Steve the way he used to. Once Bucky could make little jabs at him and Steve would jab back; now he sits with his eyes down and his shoulders hunched, utterly convinced he's done something bad. "I was joking. It's okay. Pizza's meant to be a mess, I think."

"Oh," Steve says, still looking so small. He pokes at his unfinished pizza and doesn't take another bite, claiming it'll make his tummy hurt.  _How not to parent, lesson one hundred and something,_ Bucky thinks to himself.

Fort construction goes a whole lot better, with Steve enthusiastically bossing Bucky around on the premise that Captain Ameribear is the most accomplished strategist. Pretty soon they've got a pretty majestic (if somewhat mismatched) fortress of blankets and sheets. Only Steve keeps trying to pin up the heavy blanket, and it won't stay. It's almost thirty pounds; Cornelius brought it for him in his earliest days at the Tower, when he was too restless to sit still for five seconds. The doctor had said many people claimed the weight eased their stress. Maybe it did help; Steve had pretty much worn the thing for a week. 

"Pins won't work on that, buddy," Bucky says, holding up Captain Ameribear for a final inspection upon Steve's insistence. Apparently he's forgotten he isn't quite as short as a five-year-old.

"What about duct tape? I've got some."

"We could try it."

Bucky barely has time to marvel at how well this day has turned out, given the rocky start, when JARVIS announces,  **CAPTAIN BARNES, I BELIEVE MASTER ROGERS IS IN A COMPROMISING SITUATION.**

Bucky doesn't know how the AI has a tone, or how he manages to convey that this is a more serious problem than a little forgetfulness or a panic attack. How do these things happen so _quickly?_ "Does he need me?"

**HE MAY FIND AID IN YOUR PRESENCE, BUT I WOULD ADVISE YOU TO APPROACH WITH CAUTION. HE APPEARS TO BE IN SOME DISTRESS OVER A KNIFE, WHICH I MUST INFORM YOU I WAS NOT AWARE HE HAD IN HIS POSSESSION.**

Bucky hadn't been aware either, and that's what has him the most disconcerted. The lying, hiding things. Bucky can't be sure there's not some small part of Steve that planned to use that knife.

He squashes that thought as he heads for Steve's room, bear still in hand.

The minute he opens the door, he knows there's going to be a problem. Steve's frozen, turning a blade ever so slightly in one hand, staring at it with what's definitely a Winter Soldier look. Bucky remembers that face all too clearly from when they fought on the helicarrier.

Wrapping his hands around Steve's throat gutted him the first time. Knowing what he knows now, he could never bring himself to do it again.

"Hey, Steve," he tries, "I don't think it's a good idea for you to have that, buddy."

Steve turns to look at him then. His face is almost completely blank, but his eyes are terrifying. They look so wildly confused that Bucky has no clue  _who's_ behind the wheel in Steve's head. His body remains motionless, but his hand raises the knife.

Call him paranoid, but Bucky never goes anywhere unarmed. He could try his chances fighting Steve for the weapon. He could also call for backup. He could just leave, and have JARVIS put Steve's room on lockdown; this floor still has that programmed in from Steve's earliest days at the Tower, back when they weren't sure if he'd try to carry out his last mission.

Leaving would be the smartest option, but to be honest, it's not _really_ an option, because all Bucky can think about is Steve confused and alone for hours on end, with no one to comfort him or tell him what's going on and with only his knife for company. He already knows he can't do it.

"Let me help you," he tries, "Give that to me. Give it to Daddy, Steve."

He walks right over to Steve, who's now flipping the knife wildly in his hand. His arm keeps jerking like he's going to lash out. He's mumbling, arguing with himself. "You're my mission. I won't get in your chair. Shh, shh. I won't do it. I can't. You packed up snow in my head and I couldn't fucking THINK!" His face contorts in rage, light catching on the knife.

"Steve," Bucky says cautiously.

_"YOU'RE MY MISSION!"_ he shrieks, the knife swinging out suddenly. Bucky jerks back, but the blade just stings his arm.

Steve stares at the welling red line, whimpering.

**CAPTAIN BARNES, SHALL I ALERT THE AVENGERS NOW?**

"Not yet, J." Bucky watches Steve carefully. "Hey, lamb, it's gonna be okay. Just give me the knife."

JARVIS's voice has made Steve's eyes widen. "They'll put us in the cold they'll put us in chairs it's _better_ this way! You can't hurt us anymore. THEY CAN'T HURT US! _PLEASE!_ NO MORE CHAIRS!" Steve shouts, bringing the knife back up.

"No more chairs, kid." Against his better judgment, Bucky reaches for Steve and sees his eyes dart down, locked on the bear still dangling from Bucky's hand.

The  _bear._ He's  _kicking_ himself for forgetting. "No more chairs, sweetheart. Look, we're safe. We've got this guy to protect us, right?"

"Daddy," Steve whispers, going white, still staring at the bear. The realization is crashing down onto him and he sways dangerously, trembling.

"Steve," Bucky says urgently. "Steve, take your bear. And give me the knife. Give me the knife, Steve."

And Steve flings it away from himself, lunging for Captain Ameribear. By the time Bucky's grabbed the blade and slipped it into his pocket, Steve's crouching on the floor, curled around his bear, his face scrunched up and his mouth wide open in a silent scream.

All Bucky can do is sit by him and wait it out. When Steve's stopped shaking and starts to slump down, exhausted, Bucky wraps a steadying arm around him.

"I have to leave," Steve says, his voice turning hard and low and much more adult. "I have to leave right now." But even as he says it, he's leaning into the embrace. 

"The hell you will," Bucky says evenly, "I won't make you stay if you don't want to, Steve, but I'm keeping you here until I know you're okay. And right now? You're definitely _not_ okay."

"I'll never  _be_ okay!" Steve bursts out, "I was _never_ okay and you were always stuck with me and then after everything you brought me back here thinking—thinking—and now I'm  _worse_ and I'll always be this fucking wreck. Or the stupid _kid._  And—and I only upset you, Bucky, I  _know_ I do, you think I can't tell but I  _can._ And then there's this. You think I could live with myself if I killed you? If I killed anyone here? I should've died when the helicarrier went down. Or I should've just died when I was born."

Bucky tilts Steve's chin up. "Don't you say that—"

"I shouldn't. Have been. _Born_." Steve says obdurately, looking Bucky right in the eye. "Tell me I'm not still fucking weak. Tell me I wasn't a damn mistake. Tell me you _won't_ always be stuck with—with—" Steve gestures angrily at himself.

"I  _will_ tell you you're not weak,  _or_ a mistake, damn it! You were _never_ weak. There's a reason that doctor picked you for the serum. You think anyone else could've held out against HYDRA as long as you did? You got yourself  _away_ from them, Steve, that's not _nothing_."

"Only 'cause you reminded me," Steve whispers, "I never would've remembered."

"But you  _did,_ and it  _hurt,_ I  _know_ it hurt, and you picked your ass back up after I choked you half to death and you helped me take them  _down._ " Bucky squeezes his shoulders. "It might've taken us seventy years longer than expected, but we took down HYDRA. And there was no one else I'd rather have had on my side. You're my best friend. You—you're my  _everything._  You always were. And yeah, I'm stuck with you, and you're stuck with me, 'cause I'm never giving up on you." Bucky takes a deep breath, winding down. "That end of the line thing, I meant it. If you're a little kid, or if you're confused, or messed up, it's okay. You think people just come out fine after going through shit like you did? So you're messed up, that's all right. I'm here for you. I love you more than anything else in the world."

Steve squeezes his eyes shut, tears pearling at the corners. Gently, Bucky reaches over to wipe them away.

"I'm sorry I took the knives." Steve whispers, sounding like the kid again, "That was really stupid, I was just—feeling so scared."

"I get it." _Knives._ So there are more of them. "We're gonna have to talk about this with your doctors, ASAP, but for now I just need to know where they are."

"Closet," Steve whispers, "in the back, on the floor."

Bucky makes sure Steve can handle sitting up on his own before he goes to look. He finds what looks like a mini survival kit: several rolls of duct tape, protein bars, canned food, an array of knives lined up in a row beside giant bottle of honey.

"Sorry, Daddy," Steve whispers.

"I know. I'm not mad. I just need you to promise you won't do this again."

"I promise," Steve says fervently, "Never ever  _ever._ "

"Okay. So here's what we're gonna do." Bucky returns to Steve, hugging him tight, "I don't want you near these knives, so we're gonna go to my room tonight, okay? We'll take Captain Ameribear, too. All of us are gonna stay there, and I'll call your doctors tomorrow. You won't be in trouble," he says when Steve tenses, "We just need to check if you're safe. But you're not coming back here until I've taken the knives away."

"Can we bring my special pillow?" Steve whispers.

"We can bring whatever you want," Bucky promises.

In the end, they take Steve's Captain America pajamas, since they haven't changed out of these pajamas since yesterday. It occurs to Bucky, not for the first time, that he's probably a kind of irresponsible parent. But hey, there are way worse out there. 

They also bring Steve's med kit, as Steve insists he'll need to tend to Bucky's cut through the night. Though it's already healing itself, Bucky doesn't object when Steve clumsily wraps teddy bear bandages around his arm and kisses it better.

He carries Steve to the elevator wrapped in the weighted blanket, laden with pillows and clothes and teddy bears. 

His floor is dark and cold. He almost never sleeps here anymore, and Steve whimpers upon entering the unfamiliar place.

But Bucky tells JARVIS to give them some soft light, maybe a small fire in the fireplace. A familiar glow settles over the room, and Bucky watches the dawning wonder on his friend's face.  _He remembers._

Because when Bucky moved in here he was desperately craving comfort, something to hold onto after everything else had slipped away. So he'd had the floor remodeled. He was very particular about how it was done. The walls have wood paneling going halfway up, and the top half has been carefully painted and stenciled. The floors are slatted wood with a few woven rugs scattered here and there. The furniture and the lamps had to be made specially to look like what Pepper called  _antiques._

And best of all, there's a fireplace on the far wall, between the big windows. It's not real fire, of course, just imagery and vented heat. Tony had said, "It's got to be some kind of record to have less common sense than me. You want to put a giant fireplace in a room completely made of _wood_?"

But Bucky had to have it, because—

"It looks like your house was," Steve breathes.

"Yeah." Bucky deposits him in front of the fireplace and Steve immediately huddles closer to it, basking in the warmth. "You remember?"

"Uh-huh." Steve's face glows almost as bright as the fire. "It's like a little bit of  _home._ "

After they've each had a quick shower and put on clean pajamas, after Bucky makes sure Steve's teeth get brushed and Steve insists on re-bandaging and kissing Bucky's arm, they carefully tip the couch on its side. It's not real antique furniture, of course. Being designed by Tony and Pepper, it has the bonus of being both pretty  _and_ durable. But Bucky can just  _hear_ the scolding he and Steve would have gotten for this if they'd tried it as kids.

He smiles a little as he transfers the cushions from the furniture to the floor. A sheet draped over a couch isn't quite a _fort_ , but maybe...maybe a base camp, where they can safeguard each other against the nightmares. They lie inside, tangled together like when they were little kids. 

"Feeling better?" Bucky presses a kiss to Steve's forehead.

"Uh-huh. Hey, Daddy?"

"Yeah?"

"Even with the bad stuff, today was pretty good. Wasn't it?"

"Yeah. It was, Steve. Today was good. Today was great." And he hadn't thought it would be, watching to his best friend scream and rip himself apart in the early hours of the morning. He'd felt like he was losing all hope of ever getting his Steve back.

But, he realizes, this _is_ his Steve. This is a Steve who's been through hell, this is his Steve who kept piecing himself back together when everyone and everything was bent on breaking him down. Sometimes he's got the man who can reminisce about baseball and girls and family. Sometimes he has the kid whose face lights up at Candyland and blanket forts and  _a little bit of home._ Either way, he's got Steve back, and that's more than he could have ever hoped for.

And maybe Steve will never be the  _same._ But both sides of him are going to recover. And Bucky will be there for both of them, his kid and his best friend, and he'll love him every step of the way.

And maybe someday they'll be able to say about their lives what they can say about this one day: that even with the bad stuff, it was still pretty good.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I imagine Steve's instincts to create a mini survival kit stem from many, many attempts to run away from HYDRA.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Rumlow and Rollins aren't going to cause any trouble. They're not going to try and take him away. They'll get him back to normal and put him in the chair and deliver him right back to his daddy where he belongs._

_The windows are scaring him._

_They're lined with feathered frost patterns, obscuring the thickly falling snow outside. Sometime, somewhere else, frosty windows and snowfall meant bad things. It meant cold and worry and sickness and that's not what he should be upset about right now but he can't help it. He's scared and he wants Daddy to keep him warm and safe. He really, really wants Daddy._

_But when Daddy finds out about this, he'll be in so much trouble._

_But he can't fix it. He tried. He sat awake all night in the pantry and tried to be the Soldier again, and nothing's working and maybe he'll never be able to be the Soldier again and he'll be useless. HYDRA will get rid of him, and he'll never see his daddy again._

_He doesn't mean to whimper, it just happens. Commander Rumlow and Agent Rollins were staring at him, but now they look at each other._

_They're trying to figure out why the Soldier isn't working the way he should be. They want to fix him, but they can't, because he can't tell them what's wrong._

_He won't tell. He won't. That would be weak, he won't break, he will not—_

_But that's defiance and being defiant is bad. Or does that only mean with Daddy? He's pretty sure defiance to handlers warrants very severe retribution on its own._

_He can't breathe. They're on either side of him now, trying to tell him things, but his head is spinning so fast he can't really hear. He's remembering past punishments and electricity and always, always, the threat of being too bad, of being thrown out like something useless so he'll never ever—_

_"—all right, Soldier." A hand rests carefully on his arm, the flesh one. It's not all right; there's a really serious malfunction. Maybe he's been so bad he's self-destructing; maybe that's in his programming._

_"—can tell us what's—"_

_"—didn't say he gets fucking panic attacks—"_

_"—gonna have to call in?"_

_That's when he tells, even though he's not supposed to. He can't control it; words spill out between gasps and he tells everything, because if he's breaking down and dying maybe they can save him and then he'll take any punishment that comes next. But it still feels like defeat, like ultimate badness, and he cries as he finishes talking._

_Without looking up, he can feel them staring. Then Rollins, the one who's got his arm, is reminding him to keep breathing. And when he does breathe, Rollins says he's doing good, very good, and he starts feeling better. He's_ good; _they're going to help him. Maybe they can make things turn out okay._

_Without thinking, he rests his head on Rollins's shoulder.  Rollins freezes for a moment, then he pats the Soldier's head. "All right, good breathing. Uh. If you can just—"_

_He's still all weak and shaky from whatever malfunction he just had, and when Rollins tries to pull him up, he stumbles and almost falls over._

_The agent sighs, and suddenly he's being lifted up and carried down the hall. He can't help wriggling with pleasure; he thinks Daddy used to be able to carry him, but not anymore. "Kid, hold still," Rollins grunts, tightening his grip, and he goes rigid._

_He's brought to the bathroom, where he's instructed to try really really hard to calm down in the bath, and once he feels better maybe they can talk and try to get him all grown-up again. He freezes, knowing about what happens in baths and how he's never ever ever supposed to share that with anyone but Daddy._

_"Really?" Rollins sighs, looking tired and vaguely disgusted. His insides tense in shame; he doesn't know what he's done wrong. Unless the agents have realized he's reluctant to play the grown-up games with them? "You really can't even—"_

_Rumlow turns away abruptly, looking uncomfortable, while Rollins unclips all the Solder's tac gear and strips his clothes off of him. But instead of trying to touch him, Rollins just picks him up again, and he's confused. How is he supposed to thank the agent like this? He attempts an old trick still floating around in his memory and licks at Rollins's nipple, but it's awkward to twist his head this way and he only ends up with a mouthful of shirt. Still, he starts sucking because that's the only way he can think of in this position—_

_"Kid. Kid! What are you_ doing? _" He flinches and turns to look up at Rollins—what could he have done to make the agent look so horrified? "Don't—don't do that. Look, we're not here to, to do_ that _with you."_

_He doesn't understand. Isn't he supposed to thank them for helping? For taking care of him?_

_Instead, he is lowered into the tub and left alone in the bathroom. Rumlow glances over his shoulder before he goes, looking disgusted and sickened._

_He can hear them talking down the hall. He can't help listening in, absently watching flecks of dried blood settle into the water. Rumlow and Rollins are really upset. Upset about him, about the games he and Daddy play, and his tummy wrenches unpleasantly. Are they going to cause trouble back at HYDRA? If they are, he'll be punished a whole lot for telling._

_"—can't fucking believe—only it makes sense, with who he is, though. There've always been rumors that Pierce had a hard-on for—Jesus. You didn't know, did you?"_

_"Christ, no. And this, this—"_

_"It only seems like—shit's messed up, but with his history, Pierce doesn't think he deserves a little more respect? That, that kid in there—it's a goddamn—they should at least give him some fucking dignity. HYDRA was supposed to be about giving us all a chance to—" a pause. Then Rumlow speaks again in a low voice. "You know, lots of agents question the work we do. They keep on doing it, but it's normal to have your doubts. Me, I never doubted shit right up until this. But I just...if there was somewhere better. Somewhere we could take him—"_

_"Shut the hell up," Rollins says roughly, "Don't even talk like that. Christ, Brock, have some goddamn sense."_

_He's confused. They're saying they should take him away to somewhere better. But there's nothing better than doing HYDRA's work, and no one gives him a better life than Daddy, a life of treats and touch and warmth and love. He's the very breath in his lungs when all else is dead and cold. They can't make him leave Daddy. They_ can't _._

_"I know. Jesus, Jack, I know. We're in this for life, you think I don't know that—"_

_"—could never do it, Brock. And, what, he'd just skip happily off into the fucking sunset with us? And Pierce, he'd just let us go? You even say shit like that, you put both our lives at risk."_

_"I know. I fucking know, Jack. So we get this fixed. We get him back to normal and have him wiped before anyone else finds out we know. And then we do our goddamn work, and we focus on HYDRA, and we never fucking talk about this again."_

_"That's right," Rollins says, "That's exactly right. We've got time, we can deal with this shit. So what do we do?"_

_They're not going to cause any trouble. They're not going to try and take him away. They'll get him back to normal and put him in the chair and deliver him right back to his daddy where he belongs._

_He sinks his head down into the water and sighs in relief._

*

Steve had hoped be an adult for his first meeting with Hill. He's really self-conscious about his child mindset, and he wanted to make a good first impression. As it turns out, he's too stressed by the possibility of an upcoming trial to control himself mentally, so he's stuck being little and there doesn't seem to be anything anyone can do to help.

"Hello, Steve," Maria says, seating herself on the couch, "It's good to meet you."

Steve shies away, ducking his face behind Captain Ameribear. He peeks up at her and then scoots across the floor, hiding behind Bucky's legs.

So much for first impressions.

Ten minutes later, he's staring suspiciously at her from Bucky's lap. She's carefully not looking at him, although whenever she does glance over, he quickly looks away. She's not happy, Bucky can tell. She'd hoped to start gathering court defense material, and she has yet to get a word out of Steve.

She also looks more than a little disturbed, and Bucky has the urge to shield Steve from her view, but does it really matter? He can't be protected from the judgment that'll fly in from all sides if this case does end up going public.

"I like your bear," Maria tries, "He looks like an original."

"He is," Steve mumbles, "His name's Captain Ameribear."

"Oh, yeah? Can you tell me about him?"

"Uh-uh." Fractionally, Steve shakes his head.

He must be feeling really nervous, because normally Steve won't  _stop_ talking about the bear. Captain Ameribear likes this, Captain Ameribear thinks that, Captain Ameribear can destroy villains in one massive bite. "How about movies? Can you tell Maria about your favorite movie?"

Steve shifts on his lap, crushing his thigh a little, so that he can hide his face in Bucky's shoulder. "Lilo 'n Stitch."

"That's a good one," Maria tries to smile, "SHIELD did see its share of aliens, although none quite like Stitch."

Steve presses closer to Bucky, staring at her. If he has any thoughts about SHIELD and aliens, he doesn't say anything.

"So..." Maria leans forward, the gesture somewhat forced. Bucky doesn't think he's ever seen her act so out-of-place. He knows she's really uncomfortable because this reminds her of all the shit Pierce did, and she worked pretty closely with him. Still, he doesn't like seeing that look aimed at Steve. "Has Bucky told you why I'm meeting with you today?"

Steve's guard is up again. "Uh-huh."

"So I'm going to have to ask you some questions. You're under no obligation—you don't have to answer anything, but I'm asking you to do the best you can, all right?"

Steve eyes her warily for a second, then gives a little nod. He carefully places Captain Ameribear on his knee. Steve does strange little things with the bear a lot of the time, and Bucky's pretty sure it means something, but he has yet to figure it out.

"All right. It's already in the files, but it would help a great deal if you could identify Alexander Pierce as the head of the HYDRA organization, and as the man who personally abused you. Could you do that for me?"

A nod. He seems to be doing okay.

Maria pulls a file from her bag, opening it to the right page in one try. Steve stares, and so does Bucky. He can't help it. It's the too-familiar look on Pierce's face, an affable smile. So benevolent. So trustworthy and well-intentioned. 

Steve seems surprisingly okay, not freaking out or shaking or trying to hide the way he sometimes does when his memories feel too real. His eyes are locked raptly on the photo until Maria prompts him, "Who is this?"

"Daddy. Um—sorry, my last daddy."

"And he was also the head of HYDRA?"

"Uh-huh. Well, he was in charge of everyone else, anyway. And highest in charge with me. When I was the asset he was my master."

"Okay, good, great. You're doing great. And he was also the one who personally abused you on a regular basis?"

This time, Steve finds it harder to answer, twisting his hands into Captain Ameribear's suit. Bucky's sat through enough therapy sessions that he thinks he knows why. Steve hates what Pierce did to him. He does. But his conditioning is so deeply ingrained that he still has a hard time calling it "abuse", or believing that he didn't deserve to be hurt.

"She means, is he the one who made you play grown-up games and all that stuff," Bucky murmurs.

Steve's silent for a moment, then he bursts out, "My last Daddy  _abused_ me," in a hard, pressured tone. He sucks in a quick breath and holds it, his whole body braced, still expecting punishment.

Bucky rocks him a little. "Great job. That was brave of you, buddy."

"So Alexander Pierce is the one who conditioned you to act as a child." She manages to conceal her discomfort a little better.

"Uh-huh. He wanted me to be his little boy."

"Okay. Now, I'm going to try and spare you a lot of work here by asking if it's okay to use files, records, and other evidence material. It would be more effective than questioning you daily, and probably a great deal less stressful for you." 

"Captain Ameribear wants to know what you mean."

Captain Ameribear is one suspicious little bear, which probably means Steve's getting nervous. Bucky decides to call an end to this meeting soon. 

"It means I'm asking permission for access to your therapy materials such as audiotapes, writings, and drawings. Stark and your doctors were very thorough on their legal work for your therapy, which means that you have a lot of say in what happens under the parameters of patient confidentiality. You'd be allowed to grant me partial access. That is, you could review the materials yourself and give me only the things you'd be okay with me using. I wouldn't share these materials in their entirety with anyone else, although if this case does come to court any portions used for evidence would come up in the proceedings."

Poor Steve's practically cross-eyed. That's way too much for a little kid to process. "I..."

"Could he have some time to think about it?" Bucky asks, giving him a squeeze.

"Of course. But I need you to consider this, Steve. I'm not trying to put pressure on you, but I'm hoping to use these materials in the preliminary debate. I'm going to be honest, it's not likely that I can prevent this case from being taken to court, but if I can spare you that, I will."

"...Want time to think," Steve mumbles, and then, after a pause, "Please."

"All right," Maria says, "I'll come back in a few days."

*

Steve can't have knives, but apparently toothpicks are okay. Given everything that triggers him now, Bucky's a little surprised they never made him kill anyone with a toothpick just because they wanted to see if he could do it, or because they were bored, or they wanted to watch him struggle. Sometimes, Steve's confided to Bucky, that was a source of great amusement during long missions.

Bucky grits his teeth, pushing the thought out of his mind as he cuts the apples. Steve puts the toothpicks in the slices Bucky hands him; they're making cars out of the fruit. Steve likes to play with them, and Bucky likes that he can get Steve to willingly eat real food. He gained three pounds this week. In terms of BMI, he's almost out of the danger zone. The doctors say if he keeps going at this rate, the intravenous supplementation can be discontinued by Christmas. And that's good, because Steve doesn't like doctors and tubes and needles, and Bucky almost always has to guide him through deep breathing during his treatments.

Right now, he's calm, content, and eating. Or at least he was eating last time Bucky looked. Now he's deeply engrossed in pushing a fruit 'car' across his plate. He's even making little zooming noises; Bucky finds himself smiling.

Steve abruptly stops the car and flips it over like it crashed; grapes go rolling across the table and Steve's frantically chasing after them. Bucky helps him catch them, and ruffles his hair to let him know he's not in trouble. He's still so scared of making a mess, of being _bad_.

When all the cars have been crashed and eaten, Bucky puts his hand on Steve's arm. "Hey, Steve," he begins, "At some point you might want to start thinking about what Maria asked you. About the evidence for court."

Steve freezes; he probably _doesn't_ want to, but he's too scared to tell Bucky no.

"It's your choice," Bucky reminds him, "You can tell her yes or no, or you can pick what she can see."

"Do I have to look through all the...evidence and stuff?" Steve pokes his straw around his empty smoothie glass.

"Only if you want to give her limited access. If it's a full yes or no, you don't have to do that." Which isn't really fair to him, because if he wants the option that'll prepare him for what's coming, he'll have to force himself back through all his old therapy tapes. It was hard enough to deal with once. He shouldn't have to deal with that again.

"I..." Steve's fidgeting in his chair, pulling Captain Ameribear's hood on and off. His chest is beginning to heave, and Bucky knows the signs of an impending panic attack. "You don't have to decide just yet. Why don't we talk about this later?" he suggests. Steve nods, and Bucky holds his hand and reminds him to breathe.

After, he gets some paper and crayons; Steve calms quickly when he draws, and Bucky loves to watch him. When he puts the crayon to paper, he gets the same look on his face he always did back in the old days, objective and observant and tranquil regardless of what's going on in his head.

Every so often, his eyes flick around the room, taking quick measurements or gauging the precise shade to use. Or so Bucky thinks, but when Steve holds up the finished product, it is of Bucky. It's Bucky with a different hairstyle and his blue uniform from the day before he shipped out from Brooklyn so many years ago.

In the picture, Bucky looks so  _confident_ and so tall and so strong, like someone you could trust, like a man who could fix everything if you needed him to. Like if you took the best of Bucky and left out all the bad parts. And really, before the serum, he wasn't  _that_ tall. 

He remembers how small Steve used to be, and realizes, eyes stinging, that he's seeing himself through Steve's eyes.

"Like it, Daddy?" Steve mumbles, cheeks pink.

Bucky's a little choked up and he doesn't quite dare to try and say anything. He just gets up and hugs Steve really tight.

Then they go to the elevator so Bucky can hang the picture on his fridge.

*

"Have you thought any more about what I asked you?" Maria asks, settling at the table.

Steve's done anything  _but_ think about it, and that's mostly Bucky's fault.

More and more, Steve's pictures are of things from his life now, rather than depictions of his abuse—or, somehow even worse, pictures showing seemingly happy memories of Pierce. Bucky won't pretend that didn't burn, although he tried to keep his face blank and merely complimented Steve on his art skills.

Steve must have realized anyway, because he immediately apologized, shaking, and Bucky hasn't seen him draw one of those pictures since. And though he reassured Steve that he wasn't mad and that he can draw whatever he wants to draw, Bucky is extremely relieved he doesn't have to see Pierce's 'Daddy' expression ever again. It's bad enough just picturing it.

Even after that, sometimes Steve's trauma and lingering fear comes out on the paper. Sometimes these drawings portray violence and terror in acute detail. Some of them are sexual, graphically so. There are things Bucky just did not need to know about Alexander Pierce.

These drawings, he encourages. They're hard to look at, but they help him understand. Steve works well on paper, and his drawings allow him to explain things he cannot always put into words. Still, it's been nice to see some new drawings, happier ones. Pepper making cookies, Bruce and Tony tinkering with a robot, Clint sprawled across an annoyed Natasha on movie night. And drawings of Bucky. Lots of drawings of Bucky.

And recently, more and more of those drawings are _memories_. They're usually drawn in a style close to monochrome, as though seen through the eyes of someone who doesn't have a full range of color. They feature an old, beat-up dump of an apartment with a bucket of water on the floor to catch a leak, Bucky coming home sweaty from work, the rattling heater they were always trying to fix. 

Steve's art is a way to express himself, and he needs to be free to do just that, so Bucky hasn't been pushing him to draw these kinds of works.

But he wants them. He wants them more than he could possibly admit, and so he has maybe been allowing Steve to draw his nerves away rather than pushing him to talk about the trial.

Which was a mistake, Bucky now realizes with a flush of self-loathing and regret. How could he have been so selfish? Because now Steve is muttering, "Sure. Just take it all." His hands are winding into his shirt; he's completely unprepared to deal with this.

"For clarification, you're granting me permission to access all of your therapy materials? With the knowledge that some of them may be used in open court?"

Steve nods, his ears red, and stares into his lap.

"You'll be given any and all access to the materials I intend to use, if you want." Maria pushes an official-looking document across the table; a legal contract.

"Steve," Bucky says with apprehension, "You might want to think it over for a few minutes—"

Steve shrugs and, with a shaky hand, signs his name. 

And it's not that Bucky thinks Maria has bad intentions; in fact, of everyone left who still identifies as SHIELD, he trusts her the most. (Because, come on, he'd bet his left ass cheek SHIELD isn't really gone, but he's got more important problems to deal with right now.) Though he'd rather keep Steve's information private, he's aware that Maria will probably need it. But he can't help thinking this is going to cause panic down the line, and he's kicking himself for not preparing Steve better.

Steve, meanwhile, has caught himself mid-attempt to slide under the table and hide. Red-faced, he quietly pulls himself back into his chair. Maria tactfully says nothing, while Bucky reaches over to put a calming hand on Steve's back.

"Depending on how things go, legally, I'll let you know what to expect," Maria informs Steve, "We'll be calling into question your competence to stand trial, since that's what's most likely to get you out of this ordeal altogether, although that comes with its own repercussions and—" She cuts herself off, because Steve's gone completely still. "What is it, Steve?"

"I don't deserve that." He sounds like he's forcing the words out with great effort. He also sounds stubborn and determined, his old self, and Bucky's happy to hear it but really, not a good time for all Steve's moral hang-ups to make an appearance. "I don't get to get out of this. I did it. The public should hear the truth."

 _Christ, Steve._ Of course he wants to put himself through this the hard way because he thinks he owes it to the world.

"And what is the truth, to you? What verdict would you give yourself, if you were hearing everything through the ears of a stranger?"

Steve stares. His hands are shaking.

"You don't have to answer that. Either way, I wouldn't have used it against you. I'm here to defend you and that's what I plan to do. But I think if you were hearing about someone who did the things you did under the circumstances you endured, you would say it wasn't their fault, and you would say they didn't deserve to be implicated for their own victimization. I think you'd say they deserved all the help and support they could get."

Steve's blinking very rapidly. He's been forcing himself to hold Maria's gaze, but now he drops his eyes to the ground.

Maria holds out her hand to shake. "It's been an honor to meet you, Captain Rogers. You live up to your reputation and I think you deserve so much more respect than you'll likely encounter in the coming months. During that time, we're going to try and help you as much as we can, and I hope you'll let us."

Then she's gone, and Steve sinks to the floor, clinging to his bear and trembling.

*

For the rest of the day, Steve's in a nervous panic.

For all his insistence that a public trial is the right way to close this case once and for all, Bucky knows he's growing increasingly terrified of what will happen if he does end up in court.

Earlier this week, he had to take a test online. The test was to determine whether or not he is competent to stand trial, and despite his nerves, he tested as mentally capable. Tomorrow, Bucky and Maria will attend a hearing to contest the results, but they know it's a long shot. This is a major news topic right now; Steve was Captain America, the hero everyone read about in elementary school. His image is printed in every history textbook imaginable, and the reveal that he was the Winter Soldier has produced huge ripples of shock so powerful that every journalist in the country will be riding the waves for months to come. Of course this is going to come to trial, and of course it'll be made public.

And now, just to grasp at the slightest chance that Steve may not have to go through this, Bucky's going to have to go into court to denigrate his best friend and the image he holds. At least that's how he sees it. Steve would hate to hear the speeches Bucky and Maria have planned; how he regresses uncontrollably and forgets where he is, how he gets scared and tries to initiate sexual games to avoid punishment, how he struggles to keep food down and tie his shoes and remember where he was ten minutes ago.

Not that Bucky would ever say that to Steve. Steve, as far as he's concerned, is still the hero Bucky always thought he was. Steve is not in any way diminished in Bucky's eyes.

This Bucky thought while standing outside Steve's closet immediately following the competence exam, reassuring him through the door and reminding him to breathe.

Today he hides for even longer, and Bucky decides to mention to his therapists that he may need help coping with all this stress. At the rate he's going, he'll be living in that closet by the time the trial starts.

Then an idea occurs to him. He's been trying to help Steve by coaxing him out. Maybe...

"Steve?" he asks, "Mind if I join you in there?"

There's a long pause, and Bucky thinks Steve is about to refuse. Which would be something to be encouraged, actually, because it would mean he finally feels safe to say no. But the closet door cracks open and the metal hand tugs at Bucky's pants, urging him inside.

It's not dark in here like he thought it would be. Steve's hoarded an impressive array of flashlights to add to his survival kit, and the inside of the closet smells like graham crackers and protein bars. In the dim light, Bucky can see that Steve has strategically draped some spare bedsheets around a hanging rod to form a sort of tent-like enclosure. His supplies are lined up just the way he likes them.

"You've got a little fort set up here, huh?"

"It's a camp," Steve says from inside the tent, "And people stay awake outside to guard everyone else."

"Oh, yeah?" It's good that he's using things he picked up from HYDRA as coping mechanisms, Bucky reflects, seeing as that stuff isn't going away. At least some of it can help him now.

"Uh-huh. I remember we used to do that. Before. When we were in the war together." 

"Yeah, we did." Bucky's heart swells; so Steve's not remembering HYDRA missions, but the Howling Commandos and the way they used to take turns keeping watch, protecting the others. "Does it make you feel safer, thinking about that?"

"Uh-huh."

Bucky wants to grab Steve in a bear hug, but that might overwhelm him when he's already feeling so freaked out. Instead, he slowly makes his way across the closet and eases himself into the tent. It's comfortable here; Steve's made a little nest of pillows and blankets, so this corner feels soft and safe and warm.

For the rest of the afternoon, Bucky and Steve share protein bars and talk about old memories, happier times. They curl up close together and safeguard each other against whatever's waiting outside the door. And for a while, just a little while, neither of them has to think about therapy tapes and prosecution and the hearing that takes place tomorrow.

*

Maria hangs up her phone and turns to Bucky. She knows about his enhanced hearing, must know that he was hanging on every word.

"No," Bucky says. "No fucking way." And then, after a pause, "All right. All right, if that'll help, but you know I fucking hate this."

"I don't like it either, Bucky. I can't believe the little worm had the nerve to call me in person." 

They're on their way back from court. Bucky was already in a shitty mood, because the outcome of the hearing was not in their favor. Now he's got to tell Steve there's going to be a full litigation, and despite Steve's insistence that he deserves to sit a trial and let the public decide his guilt, Bucky knows he's getting scared.

And now Rumlow, fucking _Brock Rumlow_ , has called Maria to make a bargain: his testimony, in exchange for their help exonerating his own traitorous ass. 

Bucky never wants to see the man again.

When he was hurting and alone, just out of the ice, he tried to fill his life with training and television and missions. He bought a shitty car, not because he couldn't afford better—on his SHIELD salary he could've had a personal stretch limo if he wanted one—but because fixing it up gave him something to do, and left him with a sense of satisfaction at the end of the day. 

But no matter what he did, there was still a huge piece missing from his life, a Steve-shaped piece that meant Bucky couldn't go to a movie theater or a baseball game because he'd end up tearing up, feeling so acutely the absence of Steve at his side, because he'd be in a dark mood for the rest of the day.

He'd never have been able to replace Steve. He'd honestly never have tried to. But it weighed on him daily; no matter how much he seemed to heal, that pain never got any better. It was during that time that Bucky was assigned to the STRIKE team.

He'd completed a couple brief Avengers missions, but Bruce and Tony were busy people, SHIELD was sending Clint and Natasha out of the country every other week, and Thor didn't spend a whole lot of time on Earth. Bucky would've liked to get to know them better— he enjoyed Tony's company, the easy back-and-forth teasing, the way he could come up with something so offensively, horribly  _funny_ that he'd easily snap Bucky out of whatever despair he was sinking into this time. Of everyone he met coming back out of the ice, Tony was the first one who talked to him like he was human, like he wasn't Sergeant Barnes or Captain America but a guy you could tease and poke at and joke with. He'd been the first person to genuinely make Bucky laugh. And there was sparring with Natasha, there was target practice with Clint, the amiably competitive air that hung between them as they matched each other shot for shot. Their presence help[ed, but he didn't really have a chance to spend a whole lot of time with them.

The STRIKE team was different. Consistently, he worked with them, he trained with them, and he occasionally hung out with them outside of work. And he and Rumlow had hit it off right away. 

And some deep ache inside Bucky had eased, something he hadn't been aware was still hurting. He'd pushed it to the back of his mind, but it was still there, painful and gaping. And then, suddenly, there was relief.

Did Rumlow know? Was it all an act? Were the others all laughing their asses off and planning how to keep his guard down when he wasn't around? Bucky doesn't know, doesn't want to think about it.

And after all that, it turns out Rumlow knew about Steve. Knew about the torture, the mind-wipes, the cryo-tube. He  _knew._

And _Steve._ Steve's going to hate this. If there's anything Steve will despise more than the betrayal, it'll be letting a known HYDRA agent escape justice for his sake.

But that's just it. They're doing this for Steve's sake, so Bucky will bear it.

When they step into the elevator, he's still fuming, and he knows Maria is too. Both of them knew Rumlow personally. Bucky had liked him, and Maria had at least respected his effectiveness in the field.

_And how much of that field action was really for HYDRA?_

Bucky tries to think about the best way to break the news to Steve. He could be traumatized or scared—Rumlow was one of his field handlers. At best, he'll be pissed as hell, and Bucky won't blame him if he is. He's only worried that Steve will refuse. 

Hell, Steve will definitely refuse, Bucky thinks, as Maria informs him that Rumlow called offering to help their case in exchange for her team working to get his own ass off the line. As she tells him Rumlow originally meant to testify against him, only to switch sides because he'd still have been implicated that way. Steve will—

"All right."

"All right?" Bucky's not sure he heard correctly.

"Full disclosure, right? Just promise me one thing," Steve says to Maria, "When you get to his trial, make him tell the truth. He might get himself out of jail, but he should have to go up on the stand and tell the whole world what he did."

"Noted. I'll do my best."

Steve fidgets, agitated. "Is that all?"

"For now, yes." 

Bucky's not sure if he's visibly shaking. Sometimes it hits him, just how much his friend has changed. How the Steve he once knew would have been outraged. Would have ranted with Bucky about what scum Rumlow is, about HYDRA agents and betrayal and letting criminals escape justice. Bucky could have told him just how it felt, standing in that elevator and realizing everyone he'd trusted had been lying to him from the start, and Steve would have been furious on his behalf. Would have known just what to say to make Bucky stop feeling so stupid and hurt and gutted.

When Steve leaves the room, Bucky feels as alone as he did when he first came out of the ice.

*

"Daddy?"

Bucky's awake in an instant, conditioned by now to respond instantly to Steve's distress, but he's not screaming or puking or tearing at his skin. He's just sitting on his bed with his arms wrapped tightly around himself. "What's the matter? Nightmare?"

"I'm cold," Steve mumbles. "Can you come in bed with me?"

Bucky flashes back to earlier and feels ashamed of himself. He's not alone, and he's got his best friend back, which is more than he could have ever hoped for. Of course Steve's not going to be exactly the same as he was. He doesn't have to be; that doesn't mean he's  _gone._

Keeping Steve warm is something he knows how to do, although when he climbs into the bed, he realizes Steve is already sweaty and hot. Could he be sick?

"Dreamed I was in the tube," Steve whispers miserably, "I was so cold, I tried to get out..."

"Do you remember? When they put you in there?" Bucky curls himself protectively around Steve.

"Um..." He sniffles, taking hold of Bucky's hand. "A little. Not much. Mostly I went to sleep pretty quick. But in my dream I was awake, and no one came to get me and I couldn't get out, and Daddy, I was  _so cold..._ "

"Poor thing," Bucky murmurs, squeezing him, "But you're safe now. I've got you. I'll keep you warm, just like I used to, right?"

"Uh-huh." Steve presses tightly against him, curling into Bucky's body like he can make himself smaller. "Daddy?"

"Yeah?"

"If the Commander is at the trial, will we see him?"

"Probably," Bucky says, "I'm not sure if we'll have to talk to him in person, though." He squeezes Steve again. "Are you scared of him, honey?"

"I dunno," Steve mutters, "I wanna ask him. Um. I heard him talking to Rollins one time, saying because of who I was I should've ended up...doing something better. And I didn't really understand who I was before and I didn't know there was anything better out there for me. So I was confused then. Only now I know, an' I wanna ask him, if he knew he should have helped me get away then...why did he take me back to Daddy?"

Steve's on the verge of tears. Bucky, though, Bucky's seeing  _red._ Fury burns in his veins and his heartbeat's rapidly picking up. He forces himself to sound calm for Steve's sake. "Did Rumlow know about, uh...did he know about the bad games?"

"Yeah," Steve whispers, "One time I accidentally heard a trigger word. It made me little on a mission." His voice has grown smaller. "It made me mess up."

Bucky can only imagine. "And he took you back to Pierce?"

Steve shifts nervously. "Uh-huh." A pause. "I kind of wanna ask him why. If he knew he could take me somewhere else. But I'm scared to see him, too. I dunno if I can ask him that.

 _I can._ All the hurt Bucky had felt over Rumlow's betrayal has been replaced by hot fury because from the day Rumlow and Bucky met, Rumlow knew Steve was still alive. Knew who he'd been and what he'd stood for. Rumlow looked Bucky in the eye, joking and laughing with him over beer bottles and practice rifles (and, fuck, was there ever a clue, some sign Bucky missed), knowing full well that what Bucky had lost long ago was in fact right within his reach.

The whole time, he'd been screwing over both of them, and he knew. _He knew_.

About Pierce, as well. That's just the scummy icing on the fucked-up HYDRA cake.

Bucky's changed his mind about never wanting to see Brock Rumlow ever again. He wants to see Rumlow, wants to see him very fucking much.

"Well," he says, ruffling a hand through Steve's hair, "You're here now, duckling. It took a bit longer, but you got out, you're safe. So don't worry too much for now, okay? We'll get there when we get there. And then you can decide if there's anything you want to say to him."

"Okay," Steve yawns and pulls Bucky's arm tighter around himself, "Night, Daddy."

Usually it's Steve who has a hard time getting to sleep, but tonight Bucky lies awake, tormenting himself searching his memories for some cue, some tip-off, when he spotted for Rumlow in the gym or passed joking remarks across rows of lockers after a mission. Or, hell, when he even first  _met_ the man—did Rumlow know then?

_Jesus._

He feels guilty, suddenly, for being so upset earlier. This isn't about Bucky, about him and his personal issues with Brock Rumlow; this is about Steve and his right to confront the Commander, to make him own up to everything Steve suffered, directly or indirectly, because of his actions. Bucky had no right to be mad at Steve. No right, even, to claim a part in what Steve went through under the command of the STRIKE team. That's all Steve's show.

But when the time comes, if Steve can't face Rumlow, then Bucky will. Bucky will shield Steve and comfort him and keep him from harm, at least as much as he can, and he himself will go ahead and have a word or two with the Commander on Steve's behalf.

In fact, it would be his pleasure, Bucky thinks, pulling Steve closer, because this?

This is _personal_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You have no idea how many times I wrote "Bucky Bear" rather than "Captain Ameribear". If you catch it anywhere, please let me know.
> 
> [Apple cars](http://freshcravings.tumblr.com/post/139871264686/make-these-fun-and-fresh-racing-cars-with) are very easy to make.
> 
> EDIT: I have vague ideas for this series, but most of it is still in the works. I absolutely welcome questions, suggestions, or stray plot bunnies. If you have any, please feel free to comment. Or come find me on [Tumblr](http://perplexedhedgehog.tumblr.com/) or [byfandom](http://www.byfandom.org/user/perplexed).


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _For a moment, just for a moment, a little voice in his head insists that this is not how Christmas should be._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Religion mentions in this chapter.

_"Wake up!" It's light, playful, not authoritative or commanding. Not trouble. That was an order, though, and his eyes are instantly wide open to show he is ready to obey at a moment's notice._

_Plus, If he acts like he's still sleepy that might be ungrateful. "Daddy?"_

_"Merry Christmas, Sunshine. Oh, Daddy loves you so much."_

_"Christmas?" There's a flare of recognition in his mind. It must be wrong, some slight malfunction, because he suddenly remembers that Daddy told him about Christmas last night. But before that, he thought, there was a deep chill through his body, a cold that hurt almost the way cryo does. There was a smell of pine and the faint taste of something tangy and sweet. But that can't be right, because he never eats treats except with Daddy, and Daddy told him what Christmas meant last night. "It's Christmas today."_

_"Yes, it is, sweetheart, and Daddy got up early to make it extra-special just for you."_

_"Just for me?" No longer faking wakefulness, he feels a glow ignite in his chest. He leans over for a hug, resting his head on Daddy's shoulder. "Thank you!"_

_"Well, come on," Daddy says, laughing and squeezing his shoulders._

_Since he and Daddy were really tired after so much playing last night, he's in just his racecar underpants. He squirms a little, feeling exposed, but Daddy says it won't matter in just a minute, and he thinks he knows what that means._

_He knows he's getting presents, and he's excited but a little apprehensive. Treats sometimes mean he is expected to perform unusual or unfamiliar types of thank-yous. It could be that Daddy wants to dress him up, or that he wants him naked right now. He's just woken up and by how dark it is outside, it's still pretty early. He's too sleepy to perform any of the tricks that Daddy really likes on special occasions._

_When they get to the room with the big fireplace, he can't help drawing in a little breath. There was a tree in here last night, and Daddy explained that this is part of Christmas, but now it's all lit up with softly glowing lights. "Oh..."_

_"Do you like it?"_

_"It's_ pretty. _"_

_"Look what's under it."_

_Stacked beneath the tree are bundles of shiny paper and ribbon. With Daddy's encouragement, he picks one up. He's a little distracted by the tree up close, though. Something seems wrong about it. There's the ghost of that pine smell again._

_"It's not a real tree, silly boy," Daddy's laughing a little, "It looks real, doesn't it? But those trees make a big mess."_

_He touches the needles. Plastic. But some part of him keeps insisting there should be pine in the air. Instead he catches a whiff of something sweet baking in the kitchen. Daddy really did get up early. He'll have to say a really nice thank-you, however Daddy wants it._

_The first package contains a new pair of pajamas. The pants are pink and orange, and the shirt is soft and yellow, covered in feathery designs. A large cartoon face grins out from the front. It takes him a moment for his mind to supply the memory of where he knows this character. "Big Bird!"_

_Daddy smiles at his excitement. "Try them on, Sunshine." And he does, and they're just as soft as they felt. Big Bird is his favorite TV character. Although, now that he thinks of it, he doesn't actually remember any other TV characters._

_He gets a big warm sweater and a brand new box of crayons as well. And then Daddy says there's one more treat. He comes back into the room, sipping a glass of wine and carrying a plate of cookies._

_He knows better than to reach for them just yet, and sure enough, Daddy comes to sit down beside him. He knows he'll be told to 'open up' before Daddy even says the words._

_He sucks and nibbles at Daddy's fingers, knowing what's coming next. There's something wrong about it. But what could be wrong about Daddy's soft kisses and the glow of the hearth? What could be wrong with the taste of melted chocolate on Daddy's hands and Daddy kissing it off his lips?_

_Ungrateful. Disobedient. And today's been so good, too; Daddy did that all for him. He ignores the feeling swirling around him as his mouth is pressed against the front of Daddy's pajama pants. He can't help feeling resentful as Daddy pushes slowly down into his throat, but there's dread pooling in his tummy and the choking smell of Daddy's games in the air. He slides his lips down onto Daddy all the same, because he doesn't want to ruin today. And really, in the end, what choice does he have?_

_He pushes down the thought, scared that Daddy can see it in his eyes because he's never allowed to look away. But for a moment, just for a moment, a little voice in his head insists that this is not how Christmas should be._

*

"Okay, pick him up!" Tasha says authoritatively.

Bucky sets Steve up on his shoulders. Steve has perfect balance, but he still wraps his arms tight around Bucky's head like he's about to fall over. "Whoa, hey. I've got you. Why don't you go ahead and put the star up on top of the tree?"

"Higher!" Tasha sticks a piece of cookie dough into her mouth; the same cookie dough Pepper insisted she couldn't have. Steve carefully reaches up and balances the star on top of the tree. That tree has been a major point of contention this holiday season, and it's entirely Stark's fault.

First, Tony suggested flashing strobe lights atop the tree and a speaker that blared AC/DC. Bucky's glad Pepper managed to nix that one; this is Steve's first Christmas in seventy years and Bucky doesn't want it to begin with a major assault on his senses.

Tony's next idea, heavily supported by Clint, was a USA-themed decoration scheme. He wanted a shield ornament at the top of the tree because "Hey, it's got a star in it" and Christmas lights in red, white, and blue. The speaker would stay, Tony explained, and would blare out "God Bless America." Bucky had taken one look at the puzzled look on Steve's face and decided against introducing Tony to "The Star-Spangled Man with a Plan". It's tempting, but he's not a _completely_ shitty friend, and besides, there might come a time when Steve remembers those godawful wartime comics.

Tony's third suggestion had been to stick Captain Ameribear on top of the tree like a fuzzy Christmas angel. This triggered a panic attack, with Steve frantically shaking his head and Bucky squeezing his hands to keep him from hurting himself. After that, Bruce suggested it might be better if Tony were in charge of the holiday donations, and Bucky and Steve are on decorating duty. They've been at it all week, draping strings of lights and bushy wreaths around every floor of the Tower.

The tree seems to accumulate more and more ornaments as everyone adds their own contributions. For a while there was an Iron Man helmet where the star should go. Then Rhodey arrived and the helmet vanished.

Pepper made sure the tree had enough little bears for Steve. Natasha made sure there was a small yellow dog for Clint. Tony made sure no one ever let their guard down when they walked by the tree, and now Bucky and Steve are taking care of the finishing touches.

With help, of course, from a very bossy Tasha, telling them where to string this garland or that chain of popcorn. Remembering, suddenly, holidays spent with his sisters when he was young, Bucky throws a handful of tinsel in her hair, and she shrieks with laughter.

Honestly, he's still getting used to Nat acting like a kid. Hell, it took him a while to get used to it with Steve, and at first he thought she was only doing it for his sake. He eyes her now, though, the sparkle in her eyes, her enthusiasm when she's bossing him around, and he gets an idea.

It's could get him an elbow in the face if he's wrong, but he carefully swings Steve down to the floor. Tasha puts up a bit of protest, but she doesn't try to stop him from picking her up and lifting her in the air. She chooses a silver arrow ornament to hang up, and Bucky holds her steady while she carefully places it beneath the star. On an impulse, he spins her around before setting her backdown, and her brief shriek of laughter tells him he was right about her.

Huh.

She's nonchalant a moment later, kneeling to offer Steve a piece of cookie dough. Bucky doesn't even bother telling him not to take it; even if there's egg, he won't get sick. "You all ready for tonight?" he asks.

Tonight has to be a secret because technically Steve's supposed to be kept contained in the weeks leading up to his trial. It's really not legal to let him leave the Tower; in fact, he's supposed to be at a prison facility, but apparently no one felt up to the task of trying to take him there by force. So they've been given orders not to let him leave, and that hasn't been a problem up till now.

But this is Christmas, damn it, and one of the few things Steve can remember from their old life is the holiday service at church. He described it in detail for Bucky; the smell of candles, the flickering light on the ornate walls as the singing reverberated in the air, the smell of pine wreaths and the scratchy feel of his suit. Exchanging excited looks with Bucky one pew over.

Bucky had almost shivered, the way Steve had retold it all. The deep, quivering sound of the organ echoing off the high ceiling. The peace and wellbeing settling over him. There's no question; if Steve wants to go, they're going.

He takes hold of Bucky's hand, lacing their fingers together. "Uh-huh, all set."

"You've got your suit hung up? And your shoes shined?" he adds, uncomfortably aware that he sounds like his mother as Steve nods impatiently. 

In a few weeks' time Steve will go on trial, and he's foregone the determination to do the right thing and put the truth in the public's hands. He's terrified, and though he's ashamed of it, he wants nothing more than to back out. But the holiday season has brought on a brief period of respite, and besides, he's missed out on seventy years of festivities.

Bucky wants to give him the best Christmas ever.

*

There's a lot more fuss and excitement throughout the day, and Bucky hopes it's not tiring Steve out. He's usually in bed by around nine or ten; hopefully he can make it to midnight tonight. Bucky plans to get a nap into the day somewhere, but forgets to suggest it amid all the excitement. There are a lot of things to be done.

First, Bucky has to read  _The Night Before Christmas_ about ten thousand times, Steve's head resting on his shoulder. Then Thor shows up, so there's a lot of hugging and tossing Steve and spinning him in the air, all things he was too frail to enjoy back in the day. In a way, Bucky thinks—and it certainly doesn't make up for all the shit Pierce put Steve through—in a way it's nice to see him get to have a childhood the way childhood should be.

When they were kids he had to watch from his bedroom window, coughing and sniffling, while other kids ran to play until long after dark. Bucky remembers one sunny autumn day when he had to practically drag Steve away from a game of recess baseball, knowing his thin arms couldn't knock a ball out of the park and running the bases would put him in bed for a week. Aches, pains, ever-present fears just around the corner—well, it's one thing to be grateful for, that Steve can throw back his head and laugh and shout, "Again!" as Thor twirls him around and around.

He can't help watching Tasha watch them. He's not sure what to do about it just yet, but he does make a note of it.

Once Thor has introduced Jane and Darcy to everyone (and Darcy's snapped enough pictures to blind them all with the flash) they head to the main dining room for Christmas dinner. Looking at the abundance of food and thinking of the scrimping and saving his family used to do to put together their own Christmas supper, Bucky thinks this meal could be a holiday all of its own. Steve's looking a little overwhelmed, too—there are three turkeys and two hams, all dripping with different glazes. There's special-made, gluten-free gravy, a row of baskets containing several types of bread, and elaborate layer cakes stacked on tiered racks.

Bucky hopes it's as good as it looks, because he's pretty sure that's what they'll be eating for the next week.

Natasha eyes the food like—well, like a little kid on Christmas. Given her Spartan upbringing, Bucky figures she's earned her indulgences, and he ushers her into the dining room to load up her plate. Watching Steve finish all of his food and reach for seconds, he's lit with a warm glow not unlike what a couple glasses of wine used to do for him. Steve is finally eating enough to sustain his weight, and getting to stop IV supplements is probably the best Christmas gift he could have gotten. He can't manage all the dairy in a glass of eggnog, but Bucky gives him a little taste from his own cup. He also lets Steve try his wine, just to see him wrinkle up his nose at it. Pepper gives him a disapproving look.

"What?" Bucky says, "He won't feel it. Neither of us can."

"Had I known this," Thor says, "I'd have brought you a different gift. At home, we have stores of the finest Asgardian mead. I promise that you shall once again partake in holiday merriment."

"Thanks, Thor. I just appreciate that you got us presents," Bucky says, pausing to wipe cranberry sauce from Steve's chin and thinking he's got all the holiday spirit he needs this year, "You don't have Christmas where you're from, do you?"

This leads to a round of storytelling, with everyone clamoring to tell their own favorite holiday traditions and lore. Glasses are raised, clinked, and emptied, and Bucky puts on a show of knocking back an entire bottle of Merlot, egged on by whooping and applause from Clint and Tony. And although he knows he could drink several times that and remain stone-cold sober, Bucky could swear he feels that warm light magnifying inside him, putting him in high spirits. He's got a plate full of food and Steve in his lap, and his friends are all around him. He's got family, he's got a home. He's still getting used to calling this century  _home_ , but tonight it just feels _right_.

The arrival of a sneezing "Santa" kind of fucks up the moment, although Bucky privately tells Tony to take pictures so that Happy can never live this down. Steve looks a little apprehensive about sitting on Santa's lap, and Bucky mentally facepalms over that—who thought this was a good idea? The moment passes, though, and soon Happy's handing Steve his Christmas present and moving on to Natasha, who looks even less thrilled about sitting in his lap. It makes for a kind of funny photo op, but Bucky reminds himself not to let Tony do the holiday planning next year.

It feels like forever before they're finally putting on their suits for Mass. 

They're not supposed to wait for their driver outside, not where Steve could be seen, but Bucky really wants him to get to see the stars tonight. The city, all lit up and ringing with music. He slips his hand into Steve's and they climb toward the exit, Steve wrinkling up his nose as the cold air brushes his face. Then his eyes go round.

 _"Whoa..."_ he breathes, taking a few steps in the frosty winter air, his arms outstretched and his face tilted to the sky. He exhales, watching the cloud of his breath floating up into the air, and bends to trace his fingers through a glittering patch of snow.

If they weren't wearing suits, this would be the perfect time to peg him with a snowball like he would have when they were kids. He'd have done it if only Steve wasn't looking too sick and weak to take it. Now, with all that super-juice flowing through his veins, he's got all the health in the world, perfect for getting hit with _mountains_ of snowballs. After tonight—

 _WHUMP._ A snowball hits Bucky in the side of the head. "You asshole!" Bucky says, but he's laughing as another barrage of snow comes flying at him. He dodges, surreptitiously sneaking his hand into a snowdrift so that when he goes to hug Steve, he can brush his icy fingers across the back of his neck. Steve jumps and squeaks, and Bucky smirks at him.

"God, I missed you," he mutters, holding Steve at arm's length to look at him, "Even though you're an asshole. Look, your nose is all red." He goes to touch it and Steve squirms, protesting, but his eyes are sparkling and he's holding back a smile and Bucky wishes there was some way he could capture this moment forever.

They stay like that, holding hands in the night, until their ride shows up. It's a plain maintenance van with no windows, but the driver gives them the agreed-upon signal, and they climb into the back and set off.

Everything seems to be going perfectly, but about ten minutes into the drive, Steve freezes in his seat, his eyes wide and horrified. He's shifting and squirming and his hands jump to his crotch, and Bucky's first thought is that he's about to have an accident. He almost radios the driver to pull over before he realizes what's going on. He might not have even noticed had Steve not so conspicuously attempted to hide it, but he's got a raging hard-on, and his obvious shame and discomfort don't seem to be hindering it in the slightest.

Shit. "Steve, hey. It's okay. Breathe for me." Bucky knows this is an issue with him—this function of human nature seems inextricably linked with the unease he felt when Pierce was touching him, and it's taken many panic attacks over a case of morning wood to get him used to his own body. He still doesn't like it, but it's easily taken care of with a cold shower and no one else has to know.

Bucky's never seen this happen during the day, but it does make sense. "Hey, it's just your body, all right? Your body went through a lot of shit and now that it's recovering it's gonna do its thing." Its very determined and enthusiastic thing. Bucky carefully doesn't look back down, locking gazes with Steve. "We talked about this. It's natural, okay? Happens to everyone."

"But—but the grownup games are _dirty,_ " Steve whispers, and wonderful, he's regressed from stress. How is Bucky gonna make the kid understand this?

"It's—when someone's forcing someone else to do it, that's a problem. But this is just your body, Steve, I promise, you'll figure out how it works now that you're healing up a little more. You haven't done anything wrong. Did you maybe think of someone—" Bucky recognizes the flash of utter guilt and horror on Steve's face and realizes his mistake. Way to go, Barnes, guilt the confused kid about feeling sexual attraction, that won't fuck him up at all. "It's all okay. Steve, it's really okay. It's just part of being human. If you really don't like it, you'll eventually figure out how to control it. We all have to go through that. For me," he reminisces, "It was math class, eighth grade. There was this girl—"

He kicks himself again. The old Steve would be able to laugh and tease about embarrassing teenage boner stories, but the five-year-old will only get more horribly confused. He's got to stop it with the wishful thinking. "Anyway. You'll figure it all out. But don't worry, you haven't done anything wrong."

Steve rocks back and forth, unconvinced and trying very hard to push his penis down. "I'm _dirty_ ," he blurts out, "I don't belong in a church. They'll know, they'll all know what I am—"

"Oh, Stevie, no," Bucky says. No, Pierce _can't_ have taken church. Bucky may be more of a lapsed Catholic than anything, but this is the one thing he and Steve still have that hasn't changed since they went down, and he's _not_ letting Pierce take away God. Even a God he's not entirely sure he believes in anymore. Steve still believes, in spite of everything, and that just makes this all the more important. 

When he tries to scoot closer to bring Steve in for a hug, he stiffens, so Bucky pulls away, hoping that didn't feel like a sexual threat. Pierce touched him that way too, just to fuck with him. Not that he had any choice, but he's confessed to Bucky how ashamed and confused he is from having gotten off on that.

"Listen," he begins again, once he's at a safe distance and Steve has stopped whimpering, "Popping a—um. Getting hard doesn't make you dirty, Steve, and neither does any of the stuff that happened to you. That's not your fault, no matter what, and God knows that. He loves you, Steve, and he knows you're good."

Steve hangs his head, shaking in what Bucky hopes is relief. To say "God loves you" after everything that Steve's been through may be a bit of a stretch, but hey, they're both here, aren't they? Steve got free of HYDRA and now he's here.

At a high price, maybe, but Bucky's not going to dwell on that right now. It's Christmas of 2014 and they're here, together, with the hope of many more Christmases to come. 

In his head, he gives a quick thank you to God, just in case he _is_ listening in after all.

By the time the van parks, Steve's managed to pull himself back together. When they enter the church he's still a little pink in the face, but he's calm, fully adult, and mercifully boner-free.

Bucky had been planning to hold Steve's hand through the service, just to keep a sense of whether or not he was getting edgy, out in public and surrounded by so many people. But as the service begins a deep peace falls over them both. Bucky can sense Steve calming, his eyes becoming rapt. The bright, clear voices of the chorus and the vibrating organ music settle into both of their bodies. When Steve's fingers catch his, they squeeze on very softly, and Bucky gives him a little squeeze back.

This, to Bucky, will always be what Christmas feels like. Steve's fervent expression, repeating the prayers in the candlelight.

They have a brief dicey moment as they're sidling out of their pew for Communion. Steve freezes in the aisle, muttering that he's impure and that he doesn't deserve to be here. Bucky can see a wild look in his eyes as he suggests the Host might burn him. Bucky takes hold of his shoulders and promises him that it doesn't work like that. That Steve's done nothing God would blame him for, that church is where people come to be saved. He may not be sure he believes in that himself, but it's worth it for even the uncertain relief that washes over Steve's face. Bucky holds his hand tightly all the way the aisle until Steve has to step forward to receive his bread and wine.

It only takes him a few seconds to kneel and open his mouth for the Communion wafer, but in those few moments, despite clenched fists, Steve remains perfectly steady, and Bucky couldn't be prouder. Back in their row, they lock hands once again, and Bucky can _feel_ the burden that's fallen off Steve's shoulders.

Not long after that, the overhead lights start fading out for and the melody of "Silent Night" begins to play. As the acolyte makes his way down the aisle with the torch, Steve reaches out with little hesitation to get his candle lit. He's probably not supposed to have real candles, but he doesn't lose his mind or start torching shit, so Bucky lets it go. Steve holds his candle out so Bucky can light his own.

Overhead, the vast ceiling has darkened, and the choir is beginning to lead them in song. In a second, Bucky will turn to the woman on his right so he can pass some light on to her. But for a moment, just for a moment, Bucky and Steve stand with their heads tipped together and the tips of their candles met, as if toasting to tonight, to peace and to forgiveness, reclamation and healing. To _them_ , standing here reunited, and to many more such moments to come.

Then they break apart, sharing small, teary-eyed smiles, and Bucky thinks that no matter what gifts he opens tomorrow, his Christmas has already been made.

*

On Christmas morning, Bucky is bounced awake by a very aggressive Tasha while Steve hovers nervously behind her. He does reach forward to nudge Captain Ameribear against Bucky's face.

Back when he was actually a child, Steve would have had no reservations about jumping into bed and whaling on him. Given that there's about a two-hundred-pound weight difference between then and now, Bucky kind of appreciates that he's holding back.

"Hey, Bear," he mumbles, patting Captain Ameribear's soft fur, "I'm up, I'm up. Gimme a sec for coffee."

The bear retreats. Tasha does not. "Get up, get up," she chants, and a pillow whacks him in the face.

Bucky groans, propping himself on one elbow. The kids scoot onto the cushions beside him, and even with his eyes half-open he can  _feel_ their staring and anticipation. He puts an arm around each of them without thinking, but Tasha doesn't pull away. They sit like that for a second, enjoying a moment of peace.

Until Tasha tugs at his pajamas and demands, "C'mon, lazybones! It's Christmas!"

Down by the tree, Pepper has set up a makeshift breakfast table laden with oranges, as per Bucky's Christmas-tradition request. There's a plate stacked with pancakes, and beside that sits a mercifully vast supply of coffee.

Once everyone's situated, breakfast-wise, they start in on the presents, going around opening them one by one. Steve couldn't go outside to shop, and online shopping seemed too impersonal. Presents weren't always so abundant for him, and traditionally, they were meant to count. Most of Steve's are spectacular art pieces; Bucky's been helping him prepare them all month. For Pepper, he designed a silk banner with elaborate scrolling patterns. A few of her favorite quotes weave in and around the artwork. Tasha opens a set of framed, charcoal-pencil backgrounds with Russian poetry copied over them in intricate lettering. So Bucky's a little surprised when he opens his own present from Steve and finds himself holding a leather-bound book.

Until he opens it, and feels his breath catch in his chest.

The book is filled with stunning drawings. Bucky doesn't know where Steve found the time to do all this without him seeing. The sketches are vividly detailed and bring back memories so clear Bucky has to pass a hand over his eyes. There's Josephine, a chubby baby in a lacy gown, cradled by a preteen Bucky with a missing tooth and scruffy hair. Then, in the later years, Bucky staring intently into the bathroom mirror, Brylcreem in hand, having become very concerned with his looks. Reflected in the mirror, in the doorway, stands a smirking, smaller Steve— 

(He always used to tease Bucky about the hours he spent primping and preening.)

Bucky has to turn away from the drawing so that he doesn't cry all over it. He instead buries his face in Steve's shoulder and holds him tight.

He didn't even know Steve remembered this much, and it hits him—for the millionth time, but with no less impact—what a miracle it is to have him back at all. He thinks about Steve, in those first few weeks at the Tower, so confused and with only a vague idea of who he was.

And now he can flip through this sketchbook and see himself with Steve at baseball games and Coney Island and the World's Fair, in such perfect detail that he might as well really be back there again.

It's beautiful, and Bucky reaches over to give Steve another hug and tell him so. 

There are a lot more hugs going around that day, and both Sam and Bucky get pulled into a hugging pile when Steve opens Sam's present; it's a recording of Steve's favorite storybook. Sam actually suggested it a few weeks ago, when Bucky said he was worried that Steve had such bad nights when he was off on missions. It's Bucky's voice on the recording, Sam explains, so Steve can always have his daddy read to him at bedtime.

Tony's present makes Steve jump around and squeal so much, Bucky actually worries that it'll eclipse his own gift. Tony made him a ridiculous number of teddy bears to go with the one he carries everywhere, and each one is designed like a different Avenger. Steve is immediately drawn to the Iron Bear's suit, which lights up and makes noises, and the one styled after Hawkeye, which shoots foam arrows. Bucky personally thinks Natasha's bear is really cool—it's more subtle, with minute little Widow Bites that flash tiny "sparks" when touched. Then Bucky's eyes fall on a slightly smaller bear, packed behind all the others. It's a little different from most of the bears, and Bucky immediately realizes why.

He recognizes that domino-mask design from those comics. Those goddamned comics. That's an original Bucky Bear.

How long has Tony been sitting on this? Because if he knew those comics existed, Bucky's sure he'd never hear the end of it.

The bear has on a very familiar blue coat, similar in design to the one Bucky wore back in the war, and its stitched face is so ridiculous. He could swear the thing is _scowling_.

And of course when Steve realizes that's the Bucky Bear, he's all over the thing, squeezing it and hugging it and kissing its little red nose. He even settles Captain Ameribear's helmet on his head, and declares that Bucky Bear is highly worthy of the uniform. And maybe Bucky's imagining things, maybe he's spent too much time playing pretend in the past few months, but he thinks that maybe little bear's scowl has eased just a little.

Bucky presents his gift to Steve last.

It's a brochure with the name of Peggy's nursing home, a picture of her now and a snapshot of her and Steve laughing together during an old press interview. Bucky waits, watches the confusion settle over his face. He knows Peggy's alive; Bucky debated for a while, but in the end he couldn't justify keeping that from Steve.

Hope dawns on his face as he gets it. "Are we...gonna go see her?"

"After this legal bullsh—stuff clears up, you bet we will. I—um—Santa called her up to prepare her a bit, and you should've heard her yell."

Immediately Steve's face turns scared and hangdog. "She's...is she  _mad_ at me? 'Cause I was the Winter Soldier? What if she doesn't want me to come, what if—"

"Steve, _Steve. No._ " Bucky grabs his shoulders. "It's my fault she's mad. We found out you were alive months ago, and no one told her." And Bucky feels a hell of a lot of guilt over that, he really does, but a few months ago there was no guarantee they'd really have Steve back, and if he'd remained like a terrified child losing his memory every five minutes and trying to suck Bucky off to avoid punishment, well, Peggy sure as hell didn't need to see that. He's given her a modified version of the truth, and that was hard enough on her without shoving the lurid details in her face. Of everything she's been through and all she had to see, Bucky didn't want her to watch Steve reduced to _that._

That's not something he'd ever say to Steve, though. So he just assures him, "She yelled at Santa for a good long while over the phone. Trust me, buddy, she wants to see you. Oh, God, and Steve, my family." The idea has been coming on for a while; he's been holding it back so Steve won't be overwhelmed, but now it all comes pouring out. "Becca and Jo, they're alive. They have kids, grandkids, you've gotta meet some of 'em. We didn't do Thanksgiving with them this year, I didn't think you'd be up to that, but maybe next year. Or sooner. Steve, there is going to be _so much_ we can do once we get through that trial."

Steve's face is anxious and doubtful. "The trial. What if, when they see—"

Bucky takes hold of his shoulders again. "Steve, most of them already know what's going on. I told them some—nothing private, but some, in case they ended up meeting you at some point. They know, and they're wishing you good luck. In fact, Becca was so mad they're putting you on trial I think she might wheel herself across the country to yell at those judges herself."

A flicker of a smile crosses Steve's face; he always did like Becca. 

"You've got family, Steve," Bucky continues, "You've got people across the U.S. who still want to support you. And after the trial, if you want, we're gonna go and meet them. But we'll take you to see Peggy for sure."

Steve's blinking fast now, trying not to cry. "Peggy," he whispers, and buries himself in Bucky's arms. They hold each other tight, and the others let them have their moment. For the next few minutes no one speaks, and there's only the sound of Tony playing with the Iron Bear armor and the soft notes of Christmas music floating in the air.

*

After another Christmas feast and a whole lot of bear games, Bucky finally sweeps Steve up in his arms to put him to bed. It takes a ridiculous amount of balance before they've got all the bears secured between them, but eventually they make it into the elevator with all stuffed toys accounted for. 

Bucky sees Steve shift a bit as the elevator slows. He's puzzled; they're at Bucky's floor. "I've got one last surprise for you, bud," Bucky says, and that's when the doors open.

Bucky can tell from the tears sparkling in Steve's eyes that the look is striking home for him, too. "Is this what Christmas used to look like at your house?" he whispers.

It took him a long time to find the decorations, but he just had to do it. He indulges sometimes; less often now that he's got a life built in the present that's worth living for, but every so often he allows himself to pretend he can go back in time. That nothing ever changed.

"You used to come over for holiday dinner," Bucky murmurs as Steve presses his face against his shoulder, "You and your mom, and we'd all work on making Christmas dinner together." Well, their mothers and Virginia had worked on dinner. Bucky, Steve, and Becca used to steal bites of food from the kitchen and then Bucky's mom would scold them—gently, fondly. As Bucky got older, he remembers, he understood that his parents were inviting them over under the pretext of needing extra hands in the kitchen, because they would decline an invitation on principle if the Barnes family invited them over just to give them free food.

Bucky wonders if Steve understood that before he did, if it didn't sit with him so easily. He always did have a thing about feeling like a burden.

He shakes off those thoughts, kissing Steve's forehead and depositing him by the hearth, right next to the tree. For some reason that makes Steve tense up, and Bucky hurries to dispel any memories that might have arisen, kneeling beside him and squeezing his shoulder. "We're gonna make a blanket fort and put the couch cushions on the floor, just like when we were kids."

"But my special pillow. And pajamas, and—"

"—Got 'em. I brought your stuff here before so I could surprise you." Steve is blinking uncertainly, and Bucky begins to have doubts. "We can go back to your room if you want to. This Christmas is all for you, Duckling. If you'd rather go back to your room, we can."

"Uh-uh." Steve glances around the room, "Let's stay here." Bucky hopes he's not just saying that because he's still scared of seeming ungrateful. Maybe it wasn't a good idea to spring this on him as a surprise. Steve's doing a lot better than he was, doesn't always freak out quite as much when something unexpected happens, but maybe Bucky should have asked. Maybe—

"I'm fine," Steve insists, "I just—I remembered something my last daddy used to do on Christmas. I'm fine now."

Well, it's great that he's okay, but Bucky can't help asking "He did Christmas with you?" It's stupid, maybe, but he'd honestly thought this was Steve's first Christmas since his capture, had hoped that meant something.

Steve must be able to read him better than he thought. _"Daddy,"_ he says, looking into Bucky's eyes, "this Christmas was _so much_ better. This Christmas was the best I can remember. And you—you're the best daddy ever."

And Bucky can see it, what those last words cost him. The guilt, the fear, even now. But he sees the determination too, the way he never used to keep quiet when he thought something had to be said.

So he's just going to take those words as one more gift to him this Christmas, and he leans in for a big hug to let Steve know he fully understands the value.

"Merry Christmas, Stevie," he whispers, "I'm so glad you're here."

Steve presses closer, his skin warm from the hearth and from the natural heat he never had growing up, the heat Bucky's still getting used to because it doesn't mean  _he doesn't need me anymore,_ it means he's healthy and strong and  _alive._

"Me too," he whispers, and he hugs Bucky tight.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'M SORRY I'M SO TERRIBLE AT UPDATING. I'M SORRY!
> 
> Hope you're all up for getting into the Christmas mood in June. I may be lazy about updating, but I didn't think you'd want me to wait till Christmas to post it.
> 
> The service Steve and Bucky attended was a Catholic Mass and in [Gather Near To Us](http://archiveofourown.org/works/2801459), a very specific tradition was followed. I based much of this Christmas service off the service in my own church, which is not Catholic. My experiences with Catholicism come mostly from being brought to Mass by a very strict grandmother, and hearing my mother tell stories about the angry nuns in Catholic school. I'm sure there are nice nuns, I've just heard so many stories about the angry ones. My mother recalls that her second-grade teacher threw chalk at misbehaving students, and there was one particular disciplinarian who broke a ruler on my great-grandmother's hands, then made her pay for a replacement ruler. My point is, if there are any glaring inaccuracies in how the service would be done, feel free to let me know.
> 
> And yes, Bucky Bear will not be left out of this AU! In this version of the storyline, Tony had the Bucky Bear, but he instead went and sought out an original Captain Ameribear as a gift for Bucky because it was his attempt at being comforting and because, at the time, Bucky was bearing the mantle of Captain America. But the Bucky Bear in this story is in fact the same Bucky Bear as Bucky has in the original series.
> 
> (Of course he was scowling. He was crammed in the bottom of that box for days. He's a very strong bear, but Thor Bear and that hammer of his aren't exactly lightweights, and don't even get him started on Hulk Bear.)


End file.
